He was thrilled that the years had touched her lightly. The difference was that she was bigger, more mature, with a richness like the succulent peach when it becomes golden under a red blush, ready to be plucked.
She cuddled close to him. She caressed him as though it were she who was the aggressor. She had gotten in the habit while he had been a mere broth of a lad who had to be led by the hand to the fount of ecstasy. She led him again, her lips hot beneath his. Her tongue, from old habit, made the first deep probe. It was like a signal and she became available to him, beckoning with her body.
She remembered all the little caresses, the tiny details....
CHAPTER ONE
A STRANGE noise arrested Buck Farrell's attention. A splash? Was he that near the north bank? The big Negro, his sunny skin oozing perspiration, cautiously wormed his way through the brush. It was blistering hot. When he caught a glimpse of the creek's blue waters, the sight was wonderfully refreshing.
He heard that noise again. Somebody-or something-was splashing about in the north branch. Buck crept forward, not breaking a twig. He was determined to get a look.
His tremendous shoulders and hard-muscled legs ached. Since five o'clock that morning, he had been searching for a cow whose calf had died and who might be in trouble herself. Maybe it was the cow making all the noise. Buck wiped a deposit of sweat from his face. The idea of a quick, cooling dip was immensely attractive, although he could think of better companions than a cow.
Pulling aside a screen of elder bushes, Buck peered through the opening. His eyes found the bather and his heart stood still.
A girl. A nude girl!
He caught his breath, recognizing her as Maureen Hale, a young mulatto whom Buck had eagerly watched develop from a gawky, pigtailed child into a deliciously curved adolescent.
Ready for love, Buck thought. My love. Why hadn't he already told her how much he cared for her, wanted her? He had still been thinking of her as a youngster, had never said a word about his feelings-yet obviously she was quite grown. What had he been waiting for?
His gaze devoured the girl. She was sitting on a log now, her silky skin wearing a patina of beaded gold. God, how I love you, thought the stricken Buck. But this was not the time to plead his cause. He would have to court her, talk to Lula, her mother. Maureen had always seemed rather stand-offish, anyway.
Maureen stroked the water from her glistening thighs. Then her hands moved upward to the flat platter of her stomach and the solid prominences of her chocolate-tipped breasts. She caressed them with unconscious avidity, sighing as if she were deep in some dream.
Buck hungrily watched the girl slide from the log and swim about in the blue water with ineffable grace.
Suddenly his heart began to hammer. If she saw him, would she scream? It was wrong to stand here, peeking at her.
No matter, he decided. He would not miss this sight for anything. What a fool he had been to let her reach this ripe stage without proposing, if not marriage, at least an understanding. Angry with himself, Buck shifted his feet-disturbing a pebble. It trembled, and fell into the water.
Maureen looked up, fear distorting her face. For a long, emotion-laden moment, the eyes of girl and man locked.
Then she recognized Buck and a smile touched her lips. "Hey, what do you think you're doing? Do you make a habit of spying on girls?"
Buck stood ramrod stiff and rooted to the spot.
"Don't look," Maureen called. "I'll get out of the water and put on my clothes...."
Buck, mortified, was caught between heaven and hell. But his acute embarrassment proved too much for him. Suddenly he wheeled and plunged through the brush like a rhinoceros.
Reaching his horse, he mopped rivers of sweat from his face and looked back toward the creek, the image of the naked girl burned forever in his mind.
His hands trembling and his chest a vast, suffocating ache, he mounted and rode off across the fields.
Some miles away, Cyrus Scott finished his steak and ordered coffee. Then he sat back to enjoy the sight of Fleur Manning, part owner and hostess of the club, as she drifted about spreading light and joy among the many patrons. It was getting on toward evening, Friday evening, and the weekend swell was beginning to be noticeable.
The so-called "club"-actually a notorious roadhouse and casino-was perched on the tallest hill in a county that boasted many tall hills. From its glassed sides, in any direction could be seen twenty miles of woods-covered rises and valleys, checkered here and there by cultivation. Cy's eyes, however, were not for the scenic beauties of the countryside; what fascinated him at the moment were the beauties of Fleur Manning. She had not caught sight of him yet or she would have dashed to his side, her lovely face alight with the joy of reunion. This he knew as he knew his name.
Until gossip had driven her from the county ten years before, she and Cy had been fast friends in the best sense of the word. She had guided him deftly and eagerly over the threshold of manhood. This she had been able to do not because of greater experience but rather by dint of her superior initiative and mother-wit. It had been easy to love Cy Scott at that age because he had showed promise even then of becoming the big cat-muscled man that he was now. He shivered as he remembered the cave where it had started, on the bank on the north branch of the river.
He had been fourteen and she seventeen, but on that summer day their age difference had not been apparent after the first fevered touch. For with it had disappeared all the natural shyness and resistance to be expected of a boy only fourteen. From then on, until he was out of high school they had been inseparable. And Fleur he had to admit now, was hardly less attractive than she had been in those days.
The club was a swanky spot where you were covered merely by raising an eyebrow. Food and drink were the least of its attractions. The girls, the gambling, these were the money-makers. Les Corey, whose dream the place was, had well chosen the spot, the times, and the sheriff. The county was in the throes of industrial transition-a new paper mill and oil discovery, along with the old standbys, cattle and timber, were all flourishing. It made the citizenry feverish and heady with unaccustomed wealth. Cyrus Scott mused deeply of these things, sipping a liqueur, falling into a brown study....
"Hello, Cy!" The vehemence of the greeting almost blasted him out of his chair. She had come upon him without his knowing it.
He looked up at the woman standing before him. She, to be succinct, was sumptuous. Her strapless dress fitted as such a dress is supposed to, except that at the top it seemed barely able to contain the bounty of her breasts.
"How are you Fleur?" He stood quickly.
"May I sit down?"
"Are you kidding? Let me order you something."
"No. Not this early. Oh, Cy...." He thought her eyes were a little moist. "It's been a long time."
He nodded, but showed no emotion. Fleur Manning had been something of the county bad girl after Cy had gone off to college. She had left under a cloud and had come back under a mystery that people made worse than the cloud. She was reputedly the mistress of Les Corey-hiding it under the guise of part ownership of this venture. Part ownership, indeed, everyone said. Where would the likes of Fleur Manning get enough money to buy into something as elegant as the club?
Now she laughed ruefully and shook her gleaming blond head. "You're the same Cy, all right. Not much to say and always that veil over those gray eyes. But it's so good to see you."
He grinned and twin dimples dug into his rugged jaw.
The eyes came up and met hers. "I never was veiled to you."
"I guess I knew more about you than most," she admitted.
"I seemed a little of a puzzle because I was shy and reserved. Scared of my shadow."
"Yes. I understand you grew out of that."
"You helped a lot. I'll always thank you for it."
Her full, moist mouth twisted a little. "I helped because I loved you, Cy."
He shook his head. "You couldn't. I was three years younger than you-and didn't know which way was up."
"Didn't I know enough for us both?"
"I guess you proved that-and you knew I had a barnful of affection for you."
She bit her lip and looked away. "Yes," she said quietly. "Everyone else thought I was dirt. It never made any difference to you. If you hadn't gone off to college, things might have been different. People just wouldn't let me alone."
He raised a thick black eyebrow. "You wanted to be let alone in this county? Don't be silly. The only way that could happen is to have a father named Steven Scott and be heir to seven thousand acres of forest and pasture, set up house in the middle of it, and stay the hell away from people."
She chuckled. "Yes. Like Cy Scott. But my father is a landowner, too. A hundred acres on the north branch. He never made a decent living in his life until he became night watchman for the paper mill." Her blue eyes clouded. "You know what I wore next to my treasure the night I graduated? Flour-sack drawers. My white dress was made out of muslin curtains from Lula's house-you know Lady Bergstrom's cook?"
"And," he said, his voice mellow with the sweetness of memories, "you were by far the loveliest girl in the school that night."
Fleur, pleased, started to reply. But at that moment Les Corey walked by dressed in evening clothes, his beefy red face scraped and polished until it shone. He was a big man with abnormally broad shoulders, but he was short and when he walked he waddled. He hated it, but he couldn't help it.
"Evening, Mr. Scott. Glad to have you with us. It's not often we have the pleasure."
"The food," said Cy evenly, "was good."
"Thanks, and you have good company, too. But I'm afraid I'll have to borrow her. She's my hostess, and as such can't afford to play favorites." He grinned ingratiatingly, revealing a set of porcelain white dentures too obviously not his own. "Hope you'll pay us a visit again soon."
"Could be," replied Cy.
Fleur slid easily out of the chair and faced Corey. She stood an inch taller than he and the elegance of her sumptuous bounty made him look like a bedraggled percheron. "I was just going to tell you. I have a headache. I'll have to go home." Corey's face went hard. "That's too bad, but I can't spare Sam to take you home. 'Fraid you'll have to take some aspirin and make the best of it."
"I'll be glad to run you home, Fleur," said Cy Scott, rising. He towered over the other two and there was a glacial smile on his face.
"Thanks, Cy. Wait until I get my wrap."
She left them standing by the table, Corey fuming with rage because he had been outmaneuvered. "Are you always so accommodating?" he asked with a sneer.
"Invariably, where a beautiful woman is concerned," said Cy easily.
Corey muttered under his breath and Cy pounced.
He stuck a forefinger like a bar of steel into Corey's capacious belly, making him wince visibly. "If it can't be said aloud, don't say it at all," Cy advised with soft malice.
Corey gave him a malignant glance and walked away.
If they could have glided on wings from the peak of the immense hill upon which the club was perched to Fleur Manning's home, it would have taken possibly thirty-five seconds. But the road wound tortuously down the steep grade until at last it reached the level of the north branch bottoms. Here the road flattened out. They crossed an ancient bridge of rusty iron girders and turned left.
Fleur had moved over close to him, drawing her feet up on the seat and comfortably relaxing. "Is it true you're going to run for sheriff?"
Cy Scott jumped.
"What in the hell ever gave you that idea?"
"I was talking to Lady Bergstrom the other day.
She's the only one of the upper crust around here who'll still talk to me, you know. She said that the county was going to hell on a unicycle and if you'd inherited any of your father's iron and guts, you'd make a perfect sheriff."
Cy blew like a whale. "Lady's out of her mind. You had me shook there for a minute."
"Cy, I haven't been back very long. Is it as bad as people say? I mean everyone is blaming the sheriff and Les Corey and the club."
"I've heard the gossip. But you should know better than me. What's he doing-running dope, peddling reefers, white-slaving, or what?"
She was silent for a moment. "I don't know if you're aware of it, but I own a piece of the club."
"I'd heard-"
"And I suppose you heard the other story-that I was sharing a bed with Les."
"That's your business, Fleur."
"That's something I don't want as my business. If I told you that he's tried hard but has never made it-will never make it-would you believe me?"
"Unless you've changed a lot, I'll believe anything you tell me."
"Then consider yourself told. As for the other stuff that goes on, I'm not so sure it doesn't. It's hard to pin down anything like that. I know Les well enough to say he'd do anything for a dollar if he thought he could get away with it. But I have no evidence of anything except that he's got connections in Birmingham, Montgomery, New Orleans...."
"What for?"
"His bookie operations."
"He has those, too?"
"He surely does. We've had arguments about it. I say that since it goes on in the club, I should get a cut."
"He won't give you one?"
"Not a penny." She shrugged. "Cy, stop the car."
He did. She slid easily into his arms and her lips formed a hot, wet poultice of madness over his mouth. Just as it has always been, he thought, as his mind careened wildly through an electric blast of emotional upheaval that made his nerves jerk and blood hammer out a tocsin in his ears. She drew back a little and looked at him through luminous blue eyes that swam in a bath of crystal tears.
"It's still there, Cy. I couldn't be wrong."
He caressed her bare, smooth shoulders. "It's still there, Fleur. I feel it."
She sighed and leaned against the back of the seat. "Cy, when I saw you tonight, I knew I'd tell you all over again that I love you. I knew you wouldn't lie to me about how you felt. I also said to myself that whatever Cy has for me I'll take, and be glad to get. Maybe I can't have his love, but I can have that private heaven he used to take me to." She laughed low in her throat. "Even when he was only a fourteen-year-old, scared out of his wits."
He, too, laughed. She cuddled against him and slid a soft hand gently up his thigh.
"You won't fail me tonight, will you?"
"No, Fleur, I won't fail you. Where shall we go?"
"My house."
"What about your family?"
"Gone. There's only Kitty. She went to New Or leans to get her some clothes. Won't be back till tomorrow night."
"How thoughtful of her."
Fleur smiled. Her hand caressed gently. "That's what I thought when I saw you tonight." She sighed. "Drive on."
Fleur's home was a modest country dwelling that strove to be something it was not architecturally suited to be. There were too many tremendous trees hovering over it, dwarfing it, causing it to look smaller than it was. It had a wide front porch and the traditional angled roof. It was impeccably painted and the yard was carefully tended, the profuse flowers showing a woman's touch. The inside was much the same-the furniture cheap and loaded with handcrocheted doilies all tastefully arranged and stiffly starched, so clean and perfectly kept that their effect was one of artificiality, false propriety.
"Shall I make drinks?"
"Do."
She puttered about a sideboard that was too ornate and a little saggy in the middle. He walked up beside her and slid a hand about her waist
"One on account?"
She melted against him and the kiss was long and warming. He slid his hands to her hips and pulled her close and the trembling of her stomach as she gulped for needed air was transmitted back to him.
"Now let me fix drinks," she gasped.
She hurried. A few moments later they were seated on the couch.
"I've been playing with an idea for an hour or so," Fleur announced.
"Like what?"
"Why don't I arrange for you to meet Kitty?"
"I already know Kitty."
"When did you see her last?"
"Oh, three, four years ago."
"Yes. That long. At that time she was all arms, legs and hair. You should see her now."
He let his eyes wander affectionately over the generous body beside him. "I'm seeing all I want."
"Oh, hush. I know I'm past full bloom. If I didn't watch my diet carefully, I'd be as big as a house...."
"You needn't start that," he warned. "You're still the best-looking thing in this county and you can't talk me out of it."
She laughed. "All right, I'm great-but I'm thirty-five years old, Cy. Kitty is nineteen. You won't believe it when you see her. I'm ashamed to stand nude beside her. She makes me look like a cow. She has that wonderful flower-petal glow, that inner incandescence of glorious youth. And she has a blast-furnace burning inside her that feeds life to her in great red flames. You'd have to meet her to know what I mean."
"If what you say is true, then she must have half the population panting after her."
"She has her share and more. But guess who'd give his soul to have her?"
"Some several, I'd say."
"Yes-but I'm talking about Les Corey."
Cy Scott felt a flame of anger touch his throat. "Him? That-that hbg?"
"Him. He's offered me some attractive compensation if I'd help him arrange it."
"How does he explain wanting you both?"
"He doesn't bother to explain. After all, he's Les Corey. If he wants two girls, or four, what's so odd about that?"
Cy looked at her hard. "He sounds greedy. But the hell with him. And it isn't your sister I'm with. It's you."
He slid a hand beneath her long evening dress and moved it up the smooth column of her leg. She sighed and came into his arms. The kiss unraveled him just as he knew it would and the bared leg slid over his and possessed him.
Their lips parted and she looked into his eyes at close range. "You always liked the touch of me, didn't you."
"Yes," he said. "Such elegant quality."
"Shall we get comfortable?"
She got comfortable and she made him comfortable and the old days returned to them both, days when they had been young and foolish and utterly abandoned to the rites of passion.
He was thrilled that the years had touched her lightly. The difference was that she was bigger, more mature, with a richness like the succulent peach when it becomes golden under a red blush, ready to be plucked and eaten.
She cuddled close to him, urgency lacking because as of old they were sure of each other. She caressed him as though it were she who was the aggressor. She had gotten in the habit while he had been a mere broth of a lad who had to be led by the hand to the fount of ecstasy. She led him again, her lips hot and wet beneath the punishment of his. Her tongue, from old habit, made the first deep probe. It was almost like a signal and she became available to him, beckoning with her body, inviting him to take her treasure. And to him the familiar pot of honey was exquisitely sweet as he remembered.
She remembered, too. She remembered all the little caresses, the tiny details that had thrilled him in the past.
It was a rabid night and between the spells of madness were spells of heartbreaking tenderness.
CHAPTER TWO
THE CLOCK striking three found them quietly close, relaxed now, the frenetic edge gone from their early eagerness. Only the occasional chirp of a katydid and the sleepy notes of a late-singing mockingbird relieved the silence. It was cool, but not cold, the air stirring outside in a gentle zephyr.
"I'll have to go now," said Cy, as he turned and kissed Fleur's pink ear.
"I wish you could stay, Cy. I was pretending you wouldn't have to go at all." She touched him, and tears came into her eyes.
"Please don't, Fleur," he said, caressing the curve of her hip. "I feel rotten enough about this, knowing that I can give just so much. Not what you want Not what you should have."
She shook him gently. "Shut up, won't you? This night has been another trip to our heaven, so don't spoil it. I'm pretty tough. I told you I'd take what was given-and not grieve for the rest."
"But you're crying," he accused.
"Why shouldn't I be, after having been made love to as I have been tonight? Tears of joy, Cy. Joy and wonder and thankfulness. When will I see you again?"
He chuckled. "You can't have a headache every evening."
"That's right. I can't. Actually, I hostess the restaurant so I can keep an eye on my investment. But I take off Sunday nights."
"Ten times okay. And I do want you to meet Kitty."
Cyrus Scott, like his father, was an enigma to many of the people of the county. This was a section of the South where folks generally held that work was second only to church as a saver of souls. Neither Cy nor old Steven had ever felt that way. Shrewdness, foresight and ingenuity were infinitely more remunerative than knocking oneself out with long, arduous labor-so the elder Scott had taught the younger. The elder Scott, further, had proved the point by buying quantities of land, and through thrifty and intelligent management providing for the future.
So Cy was a gentleman of the soil without much of it on his hands. He loved cattle, and the deep fastnesses of the forests, and the rambling spring creeks that threaded the Scott acreage. But he also loved good food, a good tipple and not-so-good women.
This last love had earned him something of a reputation not altogether undeserved. He admitted freely to himself that like his friend Buck, the stock foreman at Scottland, he found it difficult to resist a pretty figure.
For this reason, both men distrusted the wild infatuations which would spring up in their breasts occasionally, knowing from experience that these would last only until the next long-legged beauty came along. On the other hand, Cy had never crossed the color line, as he had heard some men did. He gladly left the dark girls to Buck-who had demonstrated that he could take quite adequate care of them.
As Cy steered his car around curves at a sedate pace, he let his mind dwell on Fleur's question about his running for sheriff. Where on earth had Lady Bergstrom-the Scotts' grand old neighbor on the north-come up with such an idea? Cy would have to talk to her about that. A rumor traveled quickly and Cy feared this one might be taken seriously.
True, Jake Jonas was no great shakes as sheriff. But he had been at it for twelve years and although he was crooked as a dog's hind leg, no doubt folks would return him to office in the coming election. He had the county organization behind him, and it was said that he was supported by gambling interests. Cy liked none of this particularly. Still, by no stretch of the imagination could he picture himself interposing as a corrective measure.
Jake Jonas was a sport. He wore beige uniforms with western-style hats, cowboy boots and a long Colt. He had expensive tastes and a camp on the south branch-this because Cy had refused Jake permission to build on Scott property where the fishing was better, the water colder and the forest more lovely. Steven Scott's acreage was his kingdom and such people as he allowed on it were those who had been born there. These comprised mostly a large Negro population warmly devoted to Cy, his father and the land. Long ago, Steven had ceased paying them wages. He paid the Negroes percentages that could not fall below a certain point. This took care of bad years and acts of God. His herders, in particular, prospered from this arrangement. Steve and Cy bought only the best in both blooded and grade stock and their animals always brought the highest prices. A good calf crop meant considerably more money for the herders, so they tended their stock with the greatest of care.
Fleur, Cy mused, was more pleasant food for thought than the sheriff's office.
Fleur was one in a million. Cy wondered why he had never gone completely off the deep end for her. Oh, he had always liked her well enough, had thought the world of her, in fact. He remembered her, at the time he had gone into high school, as a tall, leggy girl full of freckles and giggles, and crowned by masses of tawny-gold hair.
Cy had been a shy but bright lad of thirteen, and she sixteen, when it had happened....
A companion goosed Cy in the ribs one day as they were shooting goals, girls at one end of the school gym and boys at the other. "Say-look at that skirt act up when Fleur shoots!"
Fleur had not yet reached the lady stage. When she went for a basketball it was with the same savage, competitive zeal displayed by the boys. But her clothes were not made for it. When she came down from a leap, her short skirt would catch air and parachute up. Once it climbed completely past her waist to hang on the lush roundness of her developing buttocks. She laughed and casually pulled down the garment, managing to glance toward the boys as she did so. But the only eye she caught was Cy Scott's.
Cy's interest was so profound and his gaze so stunned that Fleur blushed all over. She went back, breathlessly, to shooting goals again, managing now to control her skirt better. But the incident stayed in both their young minds. As day after day passed, it began to tell on them. , Lurking in Cy's mind was the picture of Fleur's scantily clad rear-so round so breathtakingly curved that his heart ached when he happened to run into her around the high-school campus. She was the object of his dreams both day and night. Of course, since he had been old enough to ride around Scottland, sex had been no stranger to him. But though he knew much, he had had no actual experience.
As for Fleur, to her Cy represented the first male she had ever really slammed between the eyes. Others had glimpsed her derriere. But they had made coarse remarks, calling her the Indian princess, Fatty-in-the-Rear. Cy Scott had not said a word. He had just stood stricken and dumb. In his eyes she had read something she could not fail to interpret. But she was too shy, and he was, to do more than exchange idle words when they saw each other on the school grounds.
He was two months past fourteen when, after the school year, they met on a sand bar on the river's north branch, some three miles above her home and four below his. Hoping to catch a glimpse of her, he had ridden his horse south. She had once told him she often swam in the branch during the summer.
Fleur, bursting with hot-blooded, untried womanhood, was strolling, unbeknown to Cy, in the hot sun two hundred yards upstream. The sand was so white it hurt Cy's eyes. The sandstone banks and shelves were a golden beige, the water blue-clear and swift He succumbed to its call. Tying his horse to an ironwood bush, he took a short, active swim in the raw. Then he caught sight of Fleur walking slowly toward him.
Cy hastened into khaki shorts, but left his shirt lying on a log.
Fleur was making squiggles in the sand with a long stick. She was dressed in shorts of some faded material that fit with appalling closeness. She also wore a white sleeveless shirt bursting with sweet fullness.
Cy's heart did a flip. Ever since that day in the gym, he had been in a fever. But he was naturally reticent and shy. He could not boldly approach her with what he had in mind. Now that the object of his dreams was approaching, he had an overpowering urge to run. He clenched teeth and fists and forced himself to stand fast.
Fleur came on, walking slowly, feeling the sun hot on her thick, tawny hair. Trickles of sweat probed her privacy. She was thinking of tall, young Cy Scott and sensation tingled through her veins. She well remembered the rapt look in his eye that day she had exposed herself. What if he should come along now? Her blood ran faster and her breath shortened.
What would he do? Nothing, probably. Maybe it was too much to expect anything of such a kid.
Yet the deep ache in her loins and the heat of her young, red blood cried out for him. Fleur, stop dreaming, she told herself. You won't see Cy. Since school had closed, twice she had walked the banks of the river but had caught no sign of him.
She struck the sugary sand pettishly with her stick. Cy was such a clean, handsome lad. There was no foolishness in him. She had plenty of it, herself, but it was purely defensive and she did not care for it in others, especially boys. And he had such fine skin. It was richly tanned and as smooth as ripe fruit. His dimples were darling, too. His teeth, when he smiled, were even and white. But he did not smile too often. Cy was the serious type that Fleur liked.
Suddenly she glanced up and there he sat, not fifty feet away.
Fleur clapped a hand to her mouth and gave a little scream. Her face was dyed by rushing blood. She had been caught right in the act of thinking of him.
Her heart pounding painfully, Fleur walked toward him. "Well, look what I found! I think I'll take it home with me."
"Hi, Fleur." Cy got it out with difficulty. "Been swimming?"
"Yeah. You almost caught me with my nothings on." This bold speech seemed to come of its own volition. Cy caught his breath and flushed.
She giggled and flopped on the sand beside him, too close for his peace of mind. He could see the rounded tops of her milky breasts, and the sight took his breath away.
"Wish I'd caught you while you were in swimming," she said roguishly. "I would have sat on your clothes and made you freeze to death in that cold water."
He laughed and she laughed and it was great fun.
"What have you been doing?" she asked.
"Oh, riding, swimming ... Nothing much."
She turned big blue eyes on him and he felt scorched. "Been thinking of me?"
"Yes," he said, feeling faint at the admission.
It was at that precise moment that something happened within Fleur Manning. She had a keen ear for nuances. In Cy's simple one-word admission Fleur heard a golden note. So patently from the strings of his heart had it come that she looked away to hide the tears coming into her eyes.
"I think about you a lot," Cy said softly. Again the words were strung on golden thread. He had weathered the first admission better than expected-and so had been encouraged to attempt a further one. Cy's heart was beating a tattoo. He wished hungrily that he might touch her.
Fleur stretched lazily, her long legs extended, thighs glistening in the sun. Watching, Cy gulped noisily.
"And what is it that you think," Fleur prompted.
"I think of how much I like you." He quailed at his seemingly uncontrollable boldness. How could he say such things when every nerve in him was curling up from embarrassment?
Her blue eyes gave him a hot, moist bath. The sun made splintery outlines on her face. Her long, luxuriant lashes drooped becomingly. "And I think that you're swell, Cy," she said.
"You do?" His voice squeaked on the question, making him want to dive into a deep, dark hole.
"Oh, yes." She rolled over on her side. Now she was much too close. If he did the same thing, they would meet stomach to stomach. Their legs would touch and her breasts would prod his chest.
Fleur felt as though she would explode. Her breasts seemed to swell and the nipples protrude. There was a burning ache below her waist.
"I know a good place," Cy said, his stomach knotting. "We can play or talk there, or-you know, be where no one can see us."
"Where?"
He pointed north. "That hole where the branch meets the river. There's a cave in the wall of the bluff."
"Oh ... Sure, I know. That hole is good for swimming. Deep."
"Would you like to go?"
As Fleur stood up, she bent in such a way as to furnish him a good look at the creamy cleavage between her breasts. She smiled directly into his face. "You bet." She gave him her hand. A scalding shock ran through him at her touch. "Beat you to the hole," she yelled. She loosed his fingers and Cy was put to the test.
Instead of running with the saddling motion of the ordinary girl, Fleur dug in, got low and really tore out. She beat Cy by a good thirty seconds. They reached the edge of the water and pattered northward, stopping opposite the deep slash between the two hills where the creek surged into the mother stream.
"Now," said Fleur, her body alive with prickling sensation, "how will we cross?"
"Wade," said the practical Cy. "Isn't it pretty deep?"
"It can only get you wet."
"That's right." She started into the cold, clear water. What if she did get wet? This was adventure. She was not going to let the small matter of getting soaked stop her.
They waded out until the water was creeping up over her knees. To her hypersensitive skin it was like a man's creeping fingers. Instantly her vivid imagination was at work. Before they were halfway across, her body was pebbled by gooseflesh. Then the watery fingers reached higher and involuntarily she uttered a gasp that startled Cy.
He glanced at her. She was staring down at herself and pressing her temples with her fingertips.
"What's the matter? Cold?"
She lifted stricken eyes to his. Hardly knowing what she said, she replied, "No-hot." Then she turned scarlet with embarrassment and started to cry.
If she had stabbed Cy, his heart could not have been more pained. He did not know what to do, what to say. He was in torment. Then instinct took over. He faced her and placed gentle hands on her shoulders. "Don't be ashamed, Fleur," he told her, his voice a caress. "You said nothing wrong."
She gave a strangled sob and went into his arms.
Never in all his fourteen years had Cy been so shaken. Warm and fragrant and soft, soundlessly and helplessly appealing, Fleur needed him, the big, strong man. Immediately Cy grew one foot and three inches. Standing hip-deep in a southland creek, a boy became a man because in his infinite, intelligent sensitivity, he understood what to do in a sore emotional crisis.
And a slip of a girl, a finely wrought and excitingly contoured girl, became a woman. Fleur could sense the magnificent maturity her touch had wrought. From that day on, she never recalled that Cy Scott was three years younger than Fleur Manning.
Of course, there would be hurdles over which she would have to help him, but she thought it a privilege. It would give her unbelievable satisfaction to do something for him-and, of course, for herself. She glowed in the warm sunlight of his understanding. Her eyes held his and she urged herself against him. She felt the leap of the male. The sensation flogged her already jumping nerves to white heat.
To Cy the touch of her firm young breasts with their shot-hard tips was like the blow of a club. His head rang with wild, discordant noises. If only he dared kiss her ... Why not? Obviously she wanted him to. Her eyes were half-shuttered, her lips parted, her body urgently close to his. Even if he wanted to retreat, he knew that she would not allow it. Cy bent and touched her lips. It was like throwing a switch to her electrical circuit. With a moan of pure agony, she went hard against him. A cry of anguish came from their lips. Cy's return embrace made Fleur's ribs crack alarmingly.
The world spun madly about them. Suddenly they lost balance and dumped into the cold water. Neither broke contact on the way down, or tried to halt the descent. As soon as their knees touched the sand, they parted and came up.
Cy's face wore a somnolent look. Fleur's was a pearl of loveliness. Her lips bore a strange, haunting smile. "Let's go to the cave, Cy," she said softly, her heart in her eyes.
Just around a shoulder of jutting, yellow sandstone was a pitted opening screened by undergrowth that also choked off the sand. Above it verdure trailed down the face of the bluff. The walls of weathered stone were covered by moss and lichen.
They had to stoop to go in, Cy holding her hand. It seemed pitch dark at first because they were accustomed to the brilliant sunlight. But soon their eyes adjusted and the cave walls took shape. An eddy at flood stage had eaten away the soft sandstone, leaving this circular chamber with a high ceiling blackened by fungus and moss. The floor was of soft sand. Only a few clusters of drifted debris marred its pristine surface. Moss made a bed in one corner.
Fleur turned and looked into his eyes. "Cy ... I've been waiting for this moment ever since that day in the gym."
He drew in a shaking breath. "You, too?"
She nodded, then brought an end to talk by coming into his arms, giving him her soft mouth to play with as he wished.
Cy suddenly felt that if he could not release his thundering emotions, he would lose his mind. Fleur's mouth was tantalizingly sweet. He tasted it. Their tongues met and beat a hasty retreat. With a smothered groan, she went limp in his arms. Anxious to prove his strength, Cy picked her up and carried her to the bank of moss.
They sank to softness together. With the sure heritage of Eve, Fleur urged herself close. They remained in silence for a long time, their bodies heating in harmony, their world gradually narrowing. The fascination of each for the other never once slackened. Cy, unashamed now of his male proclamation, laid siege to his female counterpart.
To Fleur, the idea of shame had never occurred. Loving Cy was her destiny, her all. She squirmed against him, her flame soaring. "What's going to happen?"
Cy pondered for some time. "I'm afraid I don't know too much, Fleur. Although I'm not totally ignorant."
She clutched him, then relaxed a little. "I want love, Cy. Your love. Oh, how I want to belong to you." She kissed him With terrifying sweetness. "I feel as if it were meant to be."
He caressed her hair.
She moved away from him and boldly began unbuttoning her shirt. When her breasts-rich, upthrusting mounds tipped with passion-hardened cherries-came into view, Cy caught her to him. He dropped his head and massaged the silken surfaces with his tongue.
Fleur gave one gasp of agonized joy and fell back on the moss, her body jerking with strange, involuntary rhythm. Once she wept.
"Did I hurt you?" he cried.
She turned her swimming eyes to his. "Hurt-?"
Her voice was thick. "Oh, no, Cy ... You're doing just fine. It feels so good-"
Her fingers moved down to the zipper on one side of her shorts. It gaped widely. A slice of fabulous hip surged through, glimmering palely in the wan light. She looked up at him, then guided his trembling hand to the spot. Tugging gently at the garment, he managed to release her from it. Thus he found himself, at last, staring at her deliciously nude.
Her eyes were begging him on. But he could only gaze hypnotized at her feminine flesh. A storm of emotion threatened to separate him from his senses.
She sat up slowly and pulled him into her arms. Their mouths fed upon each other. His hands wandered along down her satiny body and tasted the glory of her bared skin. Soon, under her guidance, they became one from lips to ankles. And she opened for him like that for which she was named, like a flower. A thrashing convulsion left them both stunned.
Cy was dragged inward toward the core of the world. Fleur then took all that was hers. A glad cry bubbled from her aching throat. Her world blew apart in streamers of colorful confetti. Again and again, in his youthful vigor, he took her to the heights. The volcano within her raged. Then in a final burst of wild delirium, they fell inert. Rest caressed their ravaged nerves.
Yes, thought Cy, guiding the car across the ancient span over the river branch. He thought the world of Fleur. He would never harm her or hurt her.
Just the same, he did not love her. Too bad.
He would have to go on looking. Steven was getting kind of anxious for his son to marry. Steven did not want to die without seeing his grandchildren.
CHAPTER THREE
CY SCOTT gradually ascended the pine-clad hill. To east and west spread the vast acres of Scottland, as his plantation was called. Cultivation was now mostly feed crops and pasturage. The bottoms were choked with oak, beech and magnolia.
Cy was tense and sweaty. He often wondered why he and Fleur had never formed a more binding liaison. Maybe she was right. They were too much alike. Not once had they ever exchanged a cross word. Fleur had given Cy her body and her love-in return for respect bordering upon worship, protection from wagging tongues, and an affection so genuine that it seemed at times greater than love itself.
Cy had reached level ground now. He was in sight of the comfortable, old house in which he had been born. Flanking the gate were two enormous live oaks that formed an arch through which he passed.
As the car slowed, Buck Farrell, Cy's best friend, emerged from the shadows. "Hey boy," the big Negro called. "It's past your bedtime."
"What the hell are you doing up this time of night?" demanded Cy.
"Boy, don't holler at me," said Buck Farrell, stretching mightily. He was a giant with tight, silky hair and skin the gold of ripe wheat. Two hundred and forty pounds of human power. " 'Cause if you do," Buck continued, "I'm like to pull down your drawers and mark up your tail with a limb."
"You and who else?" snapped Cy, getting out of the car. "Anyhow, what-?"
"Hell," said Buck, folding his sinuous arms across his chest. "For fifteen years I've been waiting up to see that you got home in one piece. Good thing, too. Right now you're as lap-legged as a broken-down dog."
"Look, Buck, I'm a grown man now. You sure don't have to wait up for me like Mamma used to do."
The black man's greenish eyes glowed in the light of the failing moon. "I promised your ma, just before she passed away that I would watch out for you. I'm gonna do that if I have to tan your butt"
A thick, achy feeling attacked Cy's throat. No matter where he had been or with whom, Cy could count on Buck's awaiting his arrival. Buck possessed a horde of various excuses, but this was the first time he had ever mentioned a promise to Cy's mother. Cy knew that Buck was telling the truth.
"All right, wait up for me, if it makes you happy," Cy said.
Buck drove the car around to the back. Before Cy could mount the steps to his room, Buck poked his head through the door. "Fresh coffee."
Cy turned and walked into the kitchen. Buck poured two cups of rich, black Java. Cy sugared his and Buck drank it straight
"Mrs. Bergstrom was here right after you left," said Buck.
Cy looked up suspiciously. "What did she want?"
Buck grinned. "I think she's bent on makin' you run for sheriff."
Cy hunched his shoulders and frowned. "Well, she can peddle her papers elsewhere. I refuse."
"How come?"
Cy glared at the man. "What's wrong with Jake Jonas?"
"What's right with him?"
"That's neither here nor there. The voters put him in office. Jake didn't steal it."
"No, but he bought it. A man who buys an office is a thief, in my most humble opinion."
"Did you study political science at Howard? I thought my father sent you there to study animal husbandry."
"Low blow," Buck said cheerfully. "What's my education got to do with my ability to discern the essence of a situation?"
"If there's one thing worse than a smoke," fumed Cy, "it's an educated smoke."
Buck Farrell grinned. "Smoke, hell, I'm damned near as white as you ... And for good reason."
"What's that?"
"My heart is pure."
Cy shot him a scorching glance. "Oh, boy, ain't you sharp tonight?"
"Natch. You make it so easy for me to look smart. Seriously though, why don't you throw your hat in the ring?"
"Because, dammit, I don't want to be sheriff. Is that clear?"
"The county needs a stalwart, incorruptible-"
"Oh, shut up. I'm going to bed." Cy drained his coffee cup and climbed into his big, high-ceiled bedroom. There he stripped, then took a quick shower and tumbled into bed.
Cy Scott thought that if he ignored the rumor, it would go away. In this he was doomed to disappointment. Every day, people asked with unconcealed curiosity whether he was going to run for sheriff. When Cy, in no uncertain terms, told them that he was not, their faces fell. Cy was fearfully annoyed with Lady Bergstrom, the rumor's source.
Came the following Saturday, and Cy was in his front yard watching three Negroes paint the slender Doric columns of the house. Cy's home was not as big as some of the grandiose, pre-War mansions that stud the South, but it was sizable enough. Weathered brick, it sat comfortably among the mossy old trees.
Cy turned to see a vintage Packard, still gem-brilliant and beautifully kept, rolling up over the hill. The car was a phaeton with top down and windshield tilted forward. Its enormous wire wheels gleamed and each front fender held a spare tire.
Cy's father came out on the veranda and shaded his eyes. Steven Scott was as tall and broad of shoulder as his son. His face was longer, saturnine, but softened by a whimsical quirk. He was erect and straight of back and had roan-colored hair. "That must be Lady Bergstrom," Steven said.
"I hope she's left her fixation at home," Cy replied.
"You're really set against running for sheriff, aren't you?"
Cy did not have time to answer.
A hefty female with a trumpet-like voice stepped from the car. "Never seen father and son look more like peas in a pod ... Coffee hot?"
"It is, Lady," called the elder Scott. "Come on in."
She strolled up the fanciful brick walk. Her gait was masculine, but she possessed comfortably fleshed hips, bosom and rear. Her face, round and pleasant, belied her fiery belligerence. She had crackling, blue eyes and bleached blond hair. Bobby pins lay in tight circlets close to her scalp.
As she walked along, Lady smote her right thigh with old-fashioned, leather gauntlets. "Why are you two staring at me? I'm no movie star." She cocked a bright eye at Steven. "You must be in your second childhood!"
"Thirty years ago, you were beautiful," Steven assured her. "But now you're just plain gorgeous."
Lady turned to Cy. "Could you have ad libbed a cozier compliment?"
He grinned. "I doubt it, Lady."
They sat at a long table and Aunt Violet, Buck Farrell's mother, served them coffee. She placed a bottle of Martel brandy beside Lady's cup. Lady looked up and trumpeted, "I'm glad someone remembers what I like in my coffee. Thanks, Violet. Come cook for me and I'll pay you twice what this old skinflint doles out."
Aunt Violet, her pleasant face wreathed in smiles, said, "I'm attached to the place, Lady. It's grown on me." She shot a glance at her employer. "I sure could use a raise, though."
"You just had one," Steven reminded her. "And don't forget that Lady always gives parties. Her house is worse than a restaurant."
"Now that's a fact," said Aunt Violet, her face changing. "I'd really hate to clean up after one of those blowouts."
"They are staggering," agreed the big woman, her rings sparkling in the light. "And wait till you see the barbecue I'll give Cy, here, if he agrees to run for sheriff."
Cy set down his cup. "You've caused me considerable trouble, Lady," he said. "Whatever gave you the notion that I'd run?"
Lady's hard eyes caught Cy's mild gray ones. "I hate like hell to see a two-bit gambler blow in here and buy up the county's vote. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Cy. No right-minded citizen would stand back and let a crook remain in power."
"You expect me to step in and clean everything up? Lady, be sensible," Cy pleaded. "Why didn't Sag Sharpe win the last election? The voters could have kicked out Jonas-but they didn't. They like him!"
"Sag Sharpe has the personality of a week-old possum. Cy, don't you understand? The people would rather have a crook than a milksop. And that's one thing about you-you give the impression that you've been weaned. Besides," she said, "You're young. You could turn on the charm. Women would eat it up and men would be ashamed to sell their vote. You would appeal to the younger generation and to the war veterans."
"I instructed native troops in Laos and South Viet Nam. That barely qualifies me for the American Legion. I hardly think my war record would win me an ovation."
"I'm not trying to paint you a hero," Lady said. "You did what you were told to do. But did Jake Jonas even get near a war? No. And believe me, this county is in such a mess that its sheriff should know how to employ military tactics. Cy, you're the man we need."
Cy sipped his coffee. "Ever hear of someone tempera mentally unsuited for an office?"
"I sure have. Jake Jonas, born crook, grafter and cheat. I wouldn't be surprised if Jonas is backing up the imports of marijuana that have been flooding the county."
"That's a pretty rotten thing to say about a man. Can you prove that Jake is involved?"
"No, I can't. Not right now, anyway. But rumors have been circulating among the high-school kids."
"In any case, how could a sheriff smash an organized ring?"
"That's for you to find out," Lady said. "I don't know anything about that angle. But maybe you could bring law and order back to us. Someone should set a good example for our youngsters. The majority of local parents don't have model children like old Steven here."
Steven smiled dryly. "I tried to give Cy a set of workable values and teach him to know right from wrong. Flailed the hell out of him when he was bad and backed him up when he was good. Nothing to it!"
"Plenty to it, if you ask me," retorted Lady, and swiveled around to Cy. "How about it, son? You would be doing yourself and everyone else a favor."
"I don't know," Cy said. "I'm still wondering why you want me-of all people."
"Because of your character, your background and your education. Because no man has ever said a Scott did him dirt. Because, Cy, you can't be reached by graft and corruption."
"Don't make me out a goody-goody, now," Cy said, tipping back his chair.
"Oh, it's well known that you have your faults. For instance, you're a bit too quick to toss a willing maiden. I'm not wearing rose-colored glasses, sonny. Which reminds me. Did you hear what happened to my cook's daughter, Maureen?" Lady generously spiked a fresh cup of coffee with brandy, then went on, "I dare say she's available, but only to the right man. She wants to be won, not pushed over or raped. Right now she's frightened half to death because some bastard chased her into the woods yesterday."
"Does Jonas know about it?"
"You bet. I told him. He tried to laugh it off, but I burned his ears. He tends to think that no colored girl is worthy of police protection. She can get raped, for all he cares."
Steven queried, "Does Maureen have a job?"
"Yes, at Smith's. But she's scared to walk through Pine Creek bottom. I'll have to take her myself-twice a day-if she doesn't snap out of it. And I just don't have the time."
Cy stood up, his craggy face cold with fury. "Reckon you can get her to make the walk this afternoon?"
Lady's eyes narrowed. "What for?"
"I'd like to be there if and when someone tries to grab her again."
Lady let go a bray of laughter. "You're a card, Cy. Maureen leaves work at five o'clock."
"I'll be waiting from five on. Tell the girl that there won't be any slip-up."
"Will do." Lady laid a soft, plump hand on Cy's arm. "May I announce your candidacy, then? I'd work myself to the bone for you. And you'd be surprised how many others would, too."
"I can't make any promises, Lady."
"That's all right. Just think it over. There's still plenty of time."
Cy Scott had been wandering about his property all morning. To what extent were Les Corey's operations seducing the youth of the county, Cy wondered. Dope. Attempted rape. My God, what was this county coming to?
Cy drifted back into the kitchen for another cup of Aunt Violet's strong, tangy brew. She slid a hot, golden-brown fritter on a saucer. "Aunt Violet, do you know Lula's daughter?" Cy inquired.
"Why, sure. Maureen is as fetchin' a heifer as ever walked across Pine Creek. She's tall and strung out, and she has a beautiful complexion." Aunt Violet waited expectantly. She had heard every word of the discussion between Lady and Cy.
"How old is she?" Cy asked.
"Seventeen or so. What do you intend to do to the man who tried to dump her?"
Cy's lips curled away from his teeth. "I'm going to put a wet whip on him."
Aunt Violet shuddered. "I reckon he'd rather do ten months in jail."
"Nobody is going to come in here and mess with my people," Cy said. "I'll show him."
"Sounds like you're plumb put out with that man. Now don't go stirring up a peck of trouble for the sake of a colored girl. You won't get any thanks from some people."
Cy raised his soft gray eyes. "Aunt Violet, you've been around here long enough to know what we consider right and wrong. Color doesn't matter."
"Somehow, I think it does," she said stoutly.
His gaze sharpened. "What do you mean?"
"Your daddy once put a wet whip on Mr. Gil Cuppy for givin' Buck a beating with a buggy spoke. Mr. Steven had a brand-new eight-plait rawhide soakin' out back and he run got it and I ain't never see a man take a worse whuppin'. Mr. Steven fair cut the lights out of Mr. G. No white man worth his salt would let another walk on his colored folks. That's why I think color sometimes makes a difference," Violet finished.
Cy grinned and hugged her. "I see what you mean. You know, you not only think good. You look good."
Violet made shooing motions with her apron. "Get out of here, Cy, 'fore I lose my temper and take a stick to you. I've done it before, remember?"
CHAPTER FOUR
CY circled the branding pen where Buck Farrell was castrating several white-faced calves. "I can't find my whip this morning, Buck," Cy said. "Know where it is?"
"It's tied to my saddle. I lent mine to your dad."
"Drop it in the cattle trough when you're finished. I want it good and wet by this evening."
Buck dropped two meaty objects and straightened up, frowning. "Now that's a request I haven't heard in an age. Why a wet whip?"
"My business," Cy said shortly.
Buck set the calf free, then walked over to Cy. "Need anyone to stand behind you?"
"Hell-there's no necessity for you to get involved." Cy had no intention of letting his friend in for a fracas with a white man. In this part of the South, a thing like that could mean trouble.
"Want to tell me about it?"
"Somebody has been bothering Lula's daughter, Maureen. I intend to put a stop to it"
"You should. She's a darn cute chick. But don't overplay your role. It might get you talked about."
"Come off it, Buck. You don't really believe what you're saying. I don't know the girl-but even if she were a hunchbacked Hottentot, she would deserve and get safeguarding."
"I'll go along if you need a second," Buck volunteered.
"No, thanks," Cy said. "You've got problems of your own. You don't need mine, too."
Cy Scott, a long drover's whip in one hand, waited impatiently in Pine Hill gully. His brow was sweating. Would the would-be rapist swoop down on Maureen? She had out-run him last time, Cy mused, but how long would her luck hold out? And supposing the character brought along another tough ... What would Cy do in that case?
He wished, now, that he had accepted Buck's offer to tag along.
Then Cy saw her. She had a long-legged stride that ate up distance. Taut and nervous, she was carefully peering left and right. She was the color of coffee lightened by rich Jersey cream. Her hair hung shoulder-length in a graceful pageboy. The swell of her hips was poetic.
Cy nodded with appreciation. Beauty has its own reason for being, he mused. A few moments later he caught sight of a car making its slow way down the hill.
"Just keep walking," Cy called in a low, clear tone. "I'll take care of you, Maureen."
The girl turned at the sound of his voice. Her smooth lips moved in a quick smile that showed off white teeth. She took a deep breath and resumed walking, ignoring the noise of the approaching car.
A man opened the door and leaped out. With a start, Cy recognized Kip Malone, one of Corey's hangers-on. The girl tried to run, but she stumbled and Malone fell on her.
"Now, by God," the rascal gloated, dragging Maureen to her feet. "Now I've got you!" He tore at the girl's soft yellow dress.
There were two of them all right, Cy was thinking. He did not recognize the driver, a coarse and heavy type still sitting behind the wheel, grinning and egging on the other man.
Maureen, her dress pulled above her head, screamed and kicked out at Malone. He let the dress fall, threw his arms around her in a crushing hug. Lifting her, he fell with her to the ground, then rolled himself on top of her. He was blubbering obscenities as his twisted lips sought Maureen's breasts.
At that point, Cy's heavy whip uncoiled, snaked forward. The lash split Malone's shirt from collar to belt.
Malone screamed like a scalded horse, then collapsed, his head in the sand. Again Cy's coils hissed, and blood cascaded down the deputy's back.
"Drop it, mister!" came the driver's rough voice.
The heavy man had slid from under the wheel and was aiming a stubby revolver at Cy. Then, as if he had been stabbed, the driver jerked, letting go an agonized yelp.
Unseen by any of them, Buck Farrell had crept up and laid a lash across the second man's back.
When the whip again exploded, the man fell to his knees.
Cy kicked sand into the driver's eyes. "Stand up," Cy snarled. "Jump in your car and hit the road. If I catch you in these parts again, you won't get off with scars. I'll cripple you for life."
The heavy man got slowly to his feet. He came around the car to help the snuffling Malone. The latter, cowed and frightened, extended a trembling hand. "Help me," he moaned.
"I'll get you, Scott," growled the driver, his back crawling with burning pain. "If it's the last thing I do, you son of a bitch, I'll...."
The whip sprang to life and wrapped itself around the driver's thick neck. Cy hauled back with all his strength. The big man, in the reckless rage of pain, lunged awkwardly toward him. Cy brought up a whistling right. It cracked against the granite jaw. The victim crumpled slowly to the ground.
With a titantic effort, Cy picked up the bulky fellow and threw him bodily into the car. Then Cy pointed the coiled whip at Malone. "All right, Kip. You've been here too long."
After they had gone, Cy retrieved the fallen revolver from the rutted road. He faced Buck. "Where did you come from, anyway?"
Buck grinned and helped Maureen dust off her yellow dress. "After you left, I was still convinced you might need some help. So I just rode on out here. When I saw two of them, I snuck up behind a bush and waited. Man, that wet whip cuts like a knife."
"Especially when wielded by one Buck Farrell," said Cy.
"Well, I got to go now. I tied up my horse back in the woods," said Buck. "You all right, Maureen?"
"Yes, sir," quavered the girl. "I'm fine. Mr. Cy got here in time. If he hadn't, they might have hurt me."
"Where do you live?" asked Cy, trying to quiet his leaping nerves.
"On Mrs. Bergstrom's place. I'm Lula's daughter."
"Yes, I know. But just where is your house?"
"It's on the south side. The old Penny Place."
"That's quite a far piece."
"Yes, sir."
Cy said, "My car is parked near the bridge. I'll take you home."
They walked the remaining distance to the rickety trestle, crossed it and turned left. It was sundown now and the woods were cool and quiet. The smell of wild flowers and the tang of pine needles came to their nostrils.
Maureen drew a deep, shuddering breath as Cy opened the car door for her. "It's nice this time of afternoon," she said softly.
"Yes," Cy agreed, starting up the motor. "How do you feel now?"
"Oh-flustered, I guess. Mr. Cy, I hope you can understand how much I appreciate your help. I'm terribly grateful."
"Forget it," he said, with unnecessary emphasis. He was filled with emotions to which he could not put a name. The sight of this graceful girl, the sound of her voice, he found mysteriously moving.
"I hope they won't make trouble for you," she said.
"I can take care of myself. How long have they been bothering you?"
Maureen lowered her enormous, obliquely set eyes.
"Those two? Well, the driver-I never saw him before. The other one has been following me around a couple of days." Incredibly long lashes swept her cheeks. "Of course, for the past three years, men have been looking, hinting, making suggestions-"
"Yes," Cy said profoundly, "I should imagine so."
The big petal-soft eyes found his. "Does that mean something?"
Cy took a deep breath and gripped the wheel. "Maureen, you're impossibly attractive. How could any man keep away from you? You're the most beautiful woman I have ever seen."
The savage thrust of sweet agony filled her breast. To her, he was a hero, her own personal hero. Her heart was brimming with admiration for Cy Scott. She knew him by sight, by reputation. But she had never dreamed that such a man would come, like a prince in a fairy tale, to rescue her from distress, and then tell her that she was beautiful. Although well aware that both white and colored men wanted her, Maureen had not imagined that her looks had had much to do with it. To her, the simple fact that she had been a girl coming into her maturity had been explanation enough.
Suddenly she found her voice. "We can go the back way. This road follows Pine Creek for a mile, then curves left. That will take us out to Mrs. Bergstrom's place."
"I know," Cy said thickly, loosening his grip on the steering wheel. His palms were wet. The pristine succulence of her soft-skinned legs was robbing him of all reason.
Gears groaned, then slid into action. As the car moved, conversation languished. Maureen was too intelligent not to realize that she had dealt Cy a fearful blow. Her skin was alive from scalp to toe with delicious prickles. She surrepititiously glanced at Cy's clean-cut profile ... What a guy, she mused. He was everything that she had ever wanted in a man, everything any girl could want. He was white, of course. Too bad about that. But white or black, he was the kind of man for her.
Heart aching like a sore tooth, Buck had watched them go.
"Muffed it again," Buck muttered to himself. Why hadn't he seized the chance to escort Maureen home? Why hadn't he beaten Cy to the punch? It would have been a wonderful opportunity for declaring himself. What made him so shy with the girl when he was so bold about everything else?
A thought exploded in his head. White-man bait, that's what she was. Too damned attractive for her own good. Hell, Cy was only human-she was no more than human, either.
Did it follow that something would happen between Cy and Maureen during the ride home?
Buck's brow furrowed. He had sworn that no white man would ever get Maureen. Besides, he wanted her for himself. He loved her....
Still, if Cy did kiss Maureen, toy with her, what could he, Buck, do about it? Cy was his friend, his best friend.
Buck untied his horse and slowly rode off. Maybe, he mused, Maureen thinks she's too good for a black man.
CHAPTER FIVE
CONSCIOUS of the girl's appraisal, Cy drove slowly along the winding dirt road. He eyed her covertly. What the devil was she thinking? She sat so quietly, so placidly, but Cy was sure that a volcano bubbled just beneath the surface. He was about to speak, when she turned to him.
"Did you ever see my castle?" she asked timidly.
Cy dragged himself from the rosy reverie in which he had been dwelling. "Your what?"
She giggled nervously. "My castle. It's on the corner where the road turns away from Pine."
"You mean old Jeffrey's shack? I thought that fell to pieces-"
"Yes, sir. I mean-no, sir. He was my uncle, and I've been using it since he died. I've done over the inside. My brothers helped me with the carpentry and I painted it myself."
"What do you do there?"
"Before I graduated from high school, I used it to study in. No one ever comes around to bother me.
Now I go there sometimes to think, relax and read ... I paint a little, too."
"You do?"
When Maureen smiled, a hot, stinging sensation attacked Cy's throat
"Nothing important. I dabble. If you're not in a hurry, I'd love to show the place to you."
"Great," Cy said with such indubitable conviction that the prickles again attacked Maureen.
"It's right around the curve," the girl said breathlessly. "Take the old timber road."
Cy swung the car into the narrow and overgrown lane, drove straight into the woods for half a mile or so.
The cabin was tucked away under the pines and smothered in gigantic azalea bushes. The path to the door was flanked on either side by perfumed hedges of cape jasmine.
"You cultivated these flowers?"
"I planted them, and I bring up water from the creek. It's hard work, but it keeps me in shape."
Cy Scott let his eyes slip tenderly over Maureen's body. "Oh, yes. I can see that."
The girl blushed furiously and got out of the car. Her breathing was agitated and her eyes star-bright They strode up the path paved with mossy old bricks. The walk was narrow and occasionally their shoulders touched. Both knew that something was being born between them-something warm, wonderful.
Maureen opened the door for Cy and he stepped into the dim room. The shutters were drawn. Maureen lit a thick red candle. The golden light, soft and flickering, made her countenance unbelievably beautiful. A widow's peak of Cimmerian hair accented her oval-shaped face. Her lips were full and soft and her skin clear as glass. Her breasts, firm and exotically tilted, seemed aimed at his heart; her small waist and sloping hips were excitingly curved.
Maureen turned with a fluid movement.
"I put up the wallboard and everything. I painted it, too. Even the murals."
Cy was no art critic, but her murals of Pine Creek struck him as wondrous. Maureen had caught the essence of the luxuriant greenery and small fauna. A kingfisher perched on a low snag and a small blue heron looked longingly at a spot already appropriated by a taller cousin. The water, blue and cold, flowed swiftly by. Cy could almost feel it.
"I'll be damned," he breathed. He studied the paintings closely, then backed away to further examine them.
Maureen stared at him, her eyes so rapt that, without looking at her, Cy felt them and shivered. He started toward a canvas-covered frame leaning against a wall, but Maureen leaped to cut him off. "Please...." Something thick was in her throat. "Please, don't look at that." She swallowed and tossed her head, her silky black hair dancing about her shoulders. "Please, not now. Not yet."
Cy came close to her, close enough to inhale the fragrance of her young, trembling body.
"I won't look at it if you don't want me to," he said.
The timbre of his voice caressed Maureen so intimately that her skin began to sting and burn. Her peaked, upthrust breasts quickened with emotion.
Her hands crept to her face and pressed her cheeks.
Tears started from her eyes and made crystalline trails that caught the soft, golden light. This sight made Cy's breast ache fiercely.
"I don't know what's the matter with me," Maureen whispered. "There's no reason, really, for you not to look. But it's a self-portrait. So much of me went into it-all my pride and vanity and...."
"Your soul," Cy prompted gently.
"I suppose so." Her eyes dropped shyly. "It's a nude, too."
"I'd love to see it," Cy said, deliberately making of his voice a trail of honey.
Slowly the girl stepped away from the frame. "Well, go ahead then. See it." She turned and flung herself on an old couch that stood in a corner.
Reverently Cy lifted the sheet. For a long time, he did not breathe. The image, so alive, so delicately done, leaped at him.
Maureen, in a lush woodland, was picking a tiny violet. She had squatted, her thighs and hips curved with breath-taking reality. She sat on one slim foot, the left. The other was bent in a ninety-degree angle. Her breasts were alert and firmly pointed and on her face was a look of rapturous repose. She was intent on the fragile flower nestled in her long fingers.
For another five minutes, Cy stared in fixed admiration at the magnificent painting. Then he dropped the cover and turned to her. She lay at full length on the couch, her head buried in her arms, her black hair spread fanwise. Her dress, pulled up high, revealed her satiny thighs. Her calves, in long, sweeping harmony with the rest of her body, rested one on the other.
Cy sat down beside her and put a gentle hand on one shoulder. An uncontrollable shudder went through her. She thrust herself around to face him.
"It's a lovely, moving composition," he said of the oil. "You're not just a good painter-you're unbelievably gifted."
"You don't think it's a horrible revelation of me? A vain, arrogant thing to do?"
"I most assuredly do not. You were being true to the model."
Maureen sat up. She draped an arm along the back of the couch. "Mr. Cy," she whispered, "I wouldn't fool you. I'm about to come to pieces."
He put a hand to her chin. "So am I," he confessed. To her, his voice seemed the golden music of trumpets. She swayed toward him. "Would you-I mean, could you...?"
Cy's mouth found the soft fruit of hers. She went as slack as a wet rag and her head lolled back, her eyes blank and unseeing.
Then the eyes took on new light and sought his. "You did it ... you kissed me!"
"Yes. Are you sorry?"
"Oh, no. I couldn't take it," the girl whispered. "Something broke inside and I was going out of my mind." A wild, runaway convulsion possessed her briefly. She clung to him, her long nails cutting his flesh. "I can't think ... I can't feel anything but this terribly wonderful thing that has happened-is happening." She gulped for air, her face brushing his chest. Then a silvery little laugh rippled from her mouth.
"What is it?" he asked huskily. .
"My dress. It's slipping down."
Cy looked. Her legs and knees, drawn up, were permitting the soft material of Maureen's yellow dress gradually to draw toward her waist. The hem caught against the fine hairs dusting her thighs, then jerked loose and traveled again a quarter of an inch. It was a fascinating thing to watch and Cy hardly breathed as Maureen's thighs were born into the fairy light of the candle.
The girl watched, her eyes wide and staring. "I'm a grown girl now. I ought to cover myself."
"Don't you dare," Cy said, clutching her tighter. "It's like watching divinity undress."
A smothered gurgle sounded and her return clutch was strong.
The dress slipped all the way down and lusciously rounded thighs lay revealed. They shimmered like shafts of tawny ivory. White panties encompassed her lower anatomy. With a moan of unendurable want, the girl twisted and slid completely free. Now, from the waist down, she was his.
Slowly, reverently, Cy dropped his hand to the beckoning flesh. With a shuddering sigh, she moved to accommodate his caress. A smothered cry forced its way past her lips. Insane with desire, they covered his.
Then in response to his fondling fingers, her body went into a spasm. Tears poured from her eyes and she sobbed wretchedly.
Moments later, control was established again. She kissed him and dropped her hand over his, pressing it hard. She drew back for a moment and gazed deeply into his eyes. "Why don't I mind you seeing me naked? If anyone else did, I'd die." Her lips mingled with his in a brief kiss. Then she took a deep breath and stroked him gently. Laughter trickled from her throat. "I've lived and died a hundred times this afternoon. I'm so alive now." She slid from his embrace and stood up. "I've got to bathe."
Cy drew her into an embrace. "Don't go," he whispered.
"I must. I've worked all day and I feel gritty. Let me come to you so clean that I won't even think of being ashamed."
He smiled. "All right. Do you have a bathroom?"
"Yes." Her teeth gleamed in a smile, "Pine Creek. Pure, soft water. Cold, but fresh and wonderful."
He caught her face in his hands. "May I watch you?"
Unexpectedly, shyness reclaimed her. "When we know each other better, maybe." She pressed herself against him. "Maybe there will even come a day when I'll let you bathe me-and I'll bathe you-" She dropped her head to his chest. "Here I am taking possession of you," she said in a smothered voice. "I speak of the future as if it were assured."
"It is," he said. "Now take your bath."
After a while she returned, swathed in a batik sarong-She was a cream-and-tan houri, a dream girl of classic proportions-and in moments she would all be his, Cy told himself ecstatically. His heart pumped. Blood boiled in his veins, filling him with heat and need. Maureen came into his arms and clung while his lips made a feast of hers. His hand discovered secrets.
When they parted for breath, she smiled mistily at him. But her fingers were clutching him convulsively.
"Please," she begged. "Please ... Oh, how wonderful you are. Kiss me. Love me."
"Yes," he replied huskily and drew her into an embrace. He felt a viscid tide of shame flow over him at the ecstatic bubble of laughter that welled from her being. She had placed him on a pinnacle. Her exaltation knew no bounds. The girl's adoration frightened Cy. He felt he deserved none of it.
Her lips were impassioned flowers and her clean mouth a honeyed well. She sucked in a deep breath and the sarong slipped, revealing one golden breast. The glorious joy of seeing the look in his eyes made her tremble.
Cy crushed her to him. She clung weakly, wrenching sighs coming from her throat. She was velvety, smooth and melting. "Bring the candle," Cy said in a strained voice.
The girl took it from the table and together they walked into the back room. She went eagerly into his arms, asking, "Why do you want light?"
"So I can see you. It would be sacrilegious to hide the body of a goddess."
A blush rose in her cheeks, and she laughed softly.
Then Cy made a move to undress, but she stopped him. "Please-let me."
She removed his clothing with a gentle touch, working with such rapturous devotion that again Cy felt shame. They embraced and the shock of his skin against her made tears start. Her kiss was so utterly wanton and hungry that he felt consumed. At last she relaxed and took a deep, stuttering breath.
He lifted her to the bed and lay for a moment beside her. Then with a moan that was half supplication, half apology, he abandoned himself to his manhood, turning his body to enfold hers.
He was tender and careful. The blaze of pain that preceded fulfillment was a brief thing, and did not frighten her. Then the heritage of Eve took over and her movements became subtle and yet amazingly brazen. The storm smote them together as the universe floundered. Everything was atilt and the song in her throat was nothing Cy had ever heard....
It was a sorely confused Cy who drove slowly back toward Scottland, his father's plantation. Usually immune from emotional entanglements, tough in temperament and calm when others were losing their heads, he was unprepared for this new feeling.
Maureen loomed large in his life. What should he do? He had tried to tell her of what he wanted, what he contemplated, but she had closed his mouth with her own. Then he had stopped trying to talk and she had had her say.
"We can't change the world and its people in our lifetime. We're on the spot. I can't have you, Cy, and we both know it. We could go away from here and try to make it work somewhere else, but that's a pipe dream. You couldn't leave Scottland and I'd be the greatest fool alive to try to entice you away. Two lives would go down the drain. In thinking of the future ... I'm glad to have what I can without becoming ill about what I can't."
"It's still not right," Cy had argued doggedly. "You deserve more than a clandestine affair."
"Please let me have something to say about that our viewpoints are different. Compare what I had yesterday to what I have today. I am far richer."
"How old are you?" Cy had asked bluntly, shaken by the maturity of her philosophy. "Is it true you're only seventeen?"
The soft dark eyes had met his, had narrowed with laughter. "I'm going on eighteen."
Cy had jumped and stared at her hard. "My God," he had breathed, "I can't believe it."
"Why ... Because I have a mind?"
"No, because you have such a fine mind. It would be silly to use the term precocious. That would leave too much untold."
Maureen's responding smile had been warm and inviting. The woman in her had sought the man in him. In an instant, he had accepted the challenge. Another nirvana had been visited, leaving them dank with sweat and trembling from the emotional forces unleashed.
Later Cy had returned to the subject, but she had again proved stubborn.
Now Cy sighed. What should he do about the girl? What should he do about himself?
For a long time after Cy's departure, Maureen lay supine and stared up at the ceiling. She relived the evening, scene after scene returning to her mind. Cy Scott was a white man and that a white man should be attracted to her was a compliment not even Maureen could ignore. The realization that she could still thrill thinking of Buck annoyed her to tears.
CHAPTER SIX
CY drove over the cattle-gap, and let the car meander on past the house and into the garage. When he mounted to the back porch, whip coiled in hand, he heard voices at the front. He walked out on to the veranda and was confronted by a shocking tableau.
Flooded by the porch lights, on the bottom step stood Sheriff Jake Jonas, resplendent in fawn-colored pants and tight-fitting shirt. In his big red hands he mauled a Stetson.
"You'd better come on in with me, boy," Jonas was saying to Buck.
Buck Farrell backed to the wall. Steven Scott, in dark trousers, light summer jacket and the inevitable blue bow tie, stood blocking the sheriff.
"If Mr. Scott tells me to, I'll go," said Buck calmly. "Otherwise, I won't."
"I," stated Steven, "have already had my say. You're here on a fool's errand, Jake. If you try to climb these steps, you'll be sorry."
"You can't stand in the way of the law," Jake Jonas blustered heavily. "I come to get Buck Farrell."
"What's the charge?" asked Cy, stepping in front of his father.
"He took a bull-whip to a couple of Les Corey's men," Jonas said. "They've been cut up something fierce. And for nothing at all-"
"That's a goddamn lie."
Cy's remark came out so viciously that the sheriff gasped. "What did you say?"
"You heard me. Anyway, I'm the man you want," Cy said, his eyes sparking fire. He gripped his weapon. "Ever feel a wet whip, Jake?"
Jonas backed away. "A wet whip. I cut those shoats because they had been bothering one of Lady Bergstrom's girls."
"Lady did come to me with some cock-and-bull story about-"
"Sure. Only it wasn't bull," Cy said. "You going to try to take me in, Jake?"
"Well, I guess I should, seein' that-"
The whip snaked out and crashed into the grass at the sheriff's feet. "You had a bona fide complaint from a tax-paying, voting citizen and you refused to investigate. I think the county has a right to know about that. I'll see to it that Wade Harbison gets the full details. He would just love to publish them in his paper." .
The sheriff's purple face paled. "Now look here, Cy. I don't want no write-ups. Wade don't like me nohow and-"
"You came to get the man who cut up Corey's torpedoes, didn't you? Well, here I am."
The sheriff licked his lips and his eyes shifted. "You say those crackers tried to take it from that gal?"
"Well, you must know it. You got a complaint from them, didn't you? And you got Lady's complaint. Don't tell me you couldn't add them up. And how come you ignore her charge, but jump like a puppet on a string when the likes of Dan Williams makes a beef? I tell you, I'm spilling the whole story to Harbison in the morning."
"Now look, Cy," said Jonas desperately, "maybe I did come out here half-cocked. That ain't no reason to get all fired up and try to cause a lot of trouble."
"I think the public should know its servants. If folks hereabouts knew a little more about what's going on, they might want to pick themselves a new sheriff. And I think they would be right."
The blood came boiling back to Jonas' face. "Yeah? I heard some of that talk about trying to bump me out. Let me tell you something, boy. Tangle with me and you'll be sorry."
"Is that a fact?" asked Cy. And flicking a wrist, he wrapped his whip about the fat sheriff's neck. Jake Jonas clawed for his gun, but Cy, closing in, imprisoned the sheriff's reaching hand. Then, muscles heaving, Cy slammed him against the concrete abutment of the veranda. "Pull that gun and I'll cut you to ribbons," Cy grated.
When Jake gave the stock a nudge, Cy's whip snaked out and licked the sheriff's highly polished boots.
"Now you're in for it, sonny," Jonas coughed. "I'll see you in jail for this."
"How?" asked Steven Scott with a smile. "We have two witnesses eager to state that Cy never laid a finger on you. Coir charge of false arrest would make mighty juicy reading, Jake."
Jonas huffed and puffed, his face purple as a beet Then he stooped and retrieved his hat and, with a malignant glance, turned and waddled down the path to his car. He started the motor and tore away, his tortured tires sending up a spray of gravel.
"Angry man," said Steven Scott, his blue eyes following the departing automobile. "I thought something like this might come up. Buck told me you and he made hash of a couple of hotheaded pests."
"We did. Good thing Buck came along, too. Otherwise I might not have survived the episode. I'm for a drink, Dad. How about you?"
"I think I'm about ready to hit the hay. Maybe Buck will have one with you."
Buck led the way into the kitchen and made highballs. He joined Cy at the table and the two drank in silence.
"Maybe my arrival was handy," Buck said, "but I guess it was a good thing I left quickly, too."
Cy's eyes flashed. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Buck made himself smile. "Oh, nothing. You know, that Maureen is the prettiest thing in the county. I hope you take good care of her."
Suddenly the starch seemed to flow out of Cy and he slumped. "So you could see it?"
"I said to myself, Cy's match is ready to build that girl's fire. And sure enough, you were gone with her maybe three hours. Did you take her straight home?" Because he loved both Cy and Maureen, the big Negro lad was suffering acutely. But he wanted to know the truth.
"No."
Buck, bitterly satisfied, applied himself to his drink.
Cy looked at him. "Do you think I did wrong?"
Buck scowled. "Boy, don't ask me something I can't answer. It's no mix of mine. But it must have seemed right to both of you, else it wouldn't have happened."
Cy said, "It's the best thing that ever did happen to me, Buck. Of course, sharing my life with Maureen will pose many problems-but what she and I possess is wonderful and rare."
"Already?" Buck queried carefully, as if testing his friend. "You hardly know her. And she just met you a few hours ago."
"I'll make it plain. I know I love her. And I think-I hope-that she loves me."
Buck nodded. "All right, then. I'm happy for both of you." Man, how big a liar can you be, thought Buck. Whatever his feelings at the moment, they were not those of happiness. He poured a shot and drank it straight.
Cy's fist struck the table viciously. "Oh, I know. You're thinking none of this is fair to Maureen. That's the big drawback."
"Betcha she doesn't think so."
"You know, I find it impossible to believe that the girl is so young. She has a very mature viewpoint She is ready to meet life on its own terms. She knows perfectly well what she's doing-"
"You don't have to make excuses," Buck said. "I'm sure she loves you-or she wouldn't have given in to you. And I'm sure you love her-because you say so."
Cy caught the irony in the other's tone.
"You mean you don't think it will last?"
"I didn't say that," Buck answered carefully.
Cy stared at the big Negro. "Now, see here, Buck. I want the best for her."
Buck nodded. "Nothing wrong with that. It so happens, however, that your contributions, because of the people among whom you have to live, will be limited."
"I realize that," Cy said. "What a shame that a girl, by reason of her color, must lead a narrow and restricted life-a social wall between her and the man she loves."
"Want to know who her father is?"
"Yes."
"Your neighbor, Frank Loty."
Cy sank into a vat of soft, strangling liquid. "I never would have thought it," Cy said. "Mr. Loty is a pillar of society, the quintessence of respectability. You mean that he and a colored woman got together?"
"Mr. Loty said that he was permitted to sleep with his wife only ten times in fourteen years of marriage. The fact that he has managed to beget two children amazes him," Buck announced. "Of course, he had to do it outside his home."
"I'm sure Frank felt justified, then, in finding a Negro woman," Cy said suddenly full of doubts. "But I have no such justification. I'm not married to an ogress."
Buck laughed. "Boy, you're determined to bullwhip yourself, aren't you? Maybe you ought to let me do it. I can throw an eight-plait a lot harder than you."
Cy drained his glass. "I think I'll hit the sack," he said. "I've had enough for one day."
Then the telephone rang. Cy winced as the brassy voice of Lady Bergstrom smote his ears.
"You don't need a phone," said Cy into the mouthpiece. "You could just stick your head out the window and-"
"None of your lip, young man, or I'll give you the whip. What happened this afternoon?"
"Party line, Lady," Cy gently reminded the woman. "Someone might be listening in."
"Oh...." She sounded subdued. "Well, since that's the case, get yourself over here on the double. I want a blow-by-blow account of your skirmish."
"But it's nearly midnight!"
"So what? I lost my reputation years ago."
"All right," Cy said. "I'll come."
"Gonna tell her about Maureen?" asked Buck.
Cy shot him a glance. "You got a screw loose somewhere?"
"Lady plays a ouija board," Buck said. "It's probably told her all about your little affair."
"Let's hope not," Cy said. "Make you a bet," Buck offered. "What's that?"
"Five dollars to one she wouldn't think the worse of either of you."
Cy shook his head. "Maybe not. But I'm not taking any chances. I don't want whispers going around about Maureen."
He went upstairs to his room, changed to blue slacks and a white shirt. As he got into his car, he let the beauty of the night flow through him.
The wills-a-widows, wealthy cousins of the whippoorwill, fled from Cy's headlights, their eyes as red as rubies. Cy loved their calls: Chuck ... wills-a widow. Chuck ... wills-a-widow...." The refrain of the birds, in haunting cadence, drifted on the air. A stinging perfume seduced his nostrils, compound of yellow jasmine, wild plum, mayhaw, and pine balsam.
Cy inhaled deeply and let the car creep around tight curves. Despite all, how strangely at peace he was! The sky was a star-spangled canopy that occasionally leaped with lightning. Fireflies flashed back and forth among the bushes lining the red, eroded clay banks. A moth as big as a hummingbird whizzed by like a small rocket and was lost.
Cy followed the winding road, then brought the car to a stop. Across a wide valley and on the crest of another rise sat Hilltop, the home of Lady Bergstrom.
It was an enormous, three-storied mansion. Gigantic columns ran around the veranda. A light, like some fabulous gem, shone through the twin front doors, their colors fusing into one opalescent ray that ballooned into the dark night.
Cy rolled the car down the drive. He pulled up under a tall, spreading magnolia and got out. The huge house made him feel pitifully small.
Abruptly the front doors were flung wide and Lady strode out. She was dressed in riding breeches and dusty boots. "Well," she bellowed, "you coming in or not?"
"Hold your horses," Cy said as he hastened up the brick walk. "Come on in, boy. Your drink is melting." They passed through the living room with its mirrors, heavy furniture and wine-colored drapes, reached a small and cozy den.
Lady handed Cy a scotch and frowned at him across the glass-topped coffee table. "All right, what happened?"
Cy told her carefully. He omitted any mention of the girl's reaction to the attack and counter-attack, of her behavior then and afterward, of his impressions concerning her. He did not so much as mention her name, concentrated instead on Buck's unexpected and fortunate part in the proceedings.
"Fine," Lady said, "I approve of the way you handled things."
"Well, Jake Jonas doesn't approve. He and I have had words," Cy confessed.
"I can see why," Lady snapped.
"He warned me not to try and take his job."
Lady reared back and looked hard at Cy. "Oh, did he?"
"Yes." With a sudden movement, Cy popped his knuckles.
"Stop that!" Lady yelled. "Dammit, that gives me the willies. So Jake as much as dared you to run?"
"That's right"
Lady waited for a full minute. "Well?"
"Harbison should get the story for the Clarion, I figure. The whole story."
"In that case, you're in," Lady trumpeted. "When can I officially start campaigning?"
Cy sighed and drained his glass in two swallows.
"I didn't say I would run, did I?"
"Are you going to let it look as if Jake scared you off? You can't do that. When the story appears in the paper-"
"Oh, all right, you win." Cy shrugged. "You can start campaigning in the morning," he said tightly.
Lady burst into raucous laughter. "That's not soon enough. When you leave, I'll start phoning. Now-what about the Negro vote? Only fifteen hundred and twenty-eight are registered."
"I could probably use them."
"You can't make any overt effort, because the Great White Race down here would probably hold that against you. But Loree and Buck will pass the word. Once our Negro folks learn what you did for Maureen, you'll have their vote in your back pocket I'd stake my biggest diamond on you taking this election by a landslide."
"I don't know how to run a campaign," Cy complained. "I'd feel silly as hell waltzing around all over the county shaking hands with people and telling them what a bastard Jake Jonas is."
"You won't have to tell anyone about Jake Jonas. They already know. Cy, I'm going to be your manager. I'll say that you're the strong, silent type, no politician, therefore will make a hell of a good sheriff. Judge Reamer has been riding the fence. But he's smart enough not to want to be buried with Jake. He'll get off if I have to knock him off. Boy, when I get through making my pitch about what a great guy you are, the office will be in your pocket."
Cy sighed shakily. "I wish I were as confident as you. I'd hate to run and lose."
"You won't lose," Lady barked. "Go on home now, and write out what you want Wade Harbison to print. I promise you that he'll run it. Wade hates Jake maybe even more than I do."
But when Cy stood to go, Lady changed her mind and motioned him to sit.
"Just a minute," she said. "I forgot one thing. Have another drink." Ramming a long Latin cigarette into an ivory holder, Lady went on thoughtfully, "You studiously avoided saying anything about Maureen. Son, she must have stung you, but good-she stings every man. So the fact that you're not talking about her means you must be hiding something. Tell me about it, Cy. I've seen, heard and done more than you can imagine. Speak up!"
Cy stared into the depths of his highball. "What can I say, Lady?"
The woman blew out a cloud of smoke. "When did Maureen leave work?"
"A little after five, I suppose."
"Well, she didn't get home until nine. Loree nearly went out of her mind from worry."
Cy sat back and took a long swallow. "In this part of the country, I guess nothing could be worse than what I've gone and done. Lady, I have fallen in love with a colored girl."
Lady puffed powerful smoke from the brown-paper cigarette. "Half the men in the county," she remarked, "are guilty of this so-called offense, including our good friends Harley Truesdell, and Walter Richardson, James Free ... Want me to go on?"
"You're not through?"
"No, I'll drop you one more. Steven Scott."
Shocked but delighted, Cy massaged the cold, sweaty tumbler. "I always closed my ears to such talk," he said slowly. "What do wives think of it?"
"Some ignore it or pretend that it isn't so. Some few realize that they married he-men and that the stronger a man, the less successfully can he squelch his libido. Take away from a man his rights and what do you have? Pimply excuses like Sam Beach and Hap Lester. You may think that Ed Bergstrom, bless his soul, was one of those weak-spined critters, but I can tell you different. Ed ran around, but he was only being a man. Nature was pulling strings that it had tied onto him a million years ago. I kept my yap shut and Ed always came back. He was smarter than most. He didn't leave the landscape cluttered up with woods colts."
"Your attitude is enlightened, I'm sure," Cy said, "but what about the ethics involved?"
"Son, ethics are flexible. Do no harm to any creature and ethics will take care of themselves. Tragedies are born only when the public is privy to your secrets. That's when the woman begins to take a beating. Bet you a dollar that you tried to reason Maureen out of an affair."
"I did."
"And she would have none of it."
"For an eighteen-year-old, Maureen has a mature, sophisticated approach to sex and everything else. Where did she get her ideas?"
"Do you know that Maureen had a straight-A average in high school? That her I.Q. is superior to mine?"
"I'll be damned. And she paints like ... Oh, hell, how can I describe her work?" Cy asked helplessly.
"You don't have to. I've seen those oils. She can also string words like nobody's business."
"It's a crime, Lady."
"What?"
"Maureen should go to college."
"You want her to?"
Cy stood up. "Yes, even if it means losing her."
"You know, that's an unselfish thing to say." Lady stared into Cy's eyes. "You're just like your father. He's a loving, generous fellow even though-since your mother passed on-he does follow the call of his glands. Sex doesn't necessarily make a louse of a man. Steven thinks in advance of the damage he might do, and if it is great, he leaves the girl alone. That's ethics, my boy."
Cy sighed heavily. "Lady, you've cleared away some mists. What's good enough for my father is good enough for me. I've been letting life pass me by."
"You're up to your eyeballs in it now."
"Jake Jonas would love to have that bit of information. He'd be glad to use it against me."
"Who's going to talk? Me? You? The girl won't...."
"Well, I've gone to bat for her, see? It might start tongues wagging."
"Poppycock. In this county, so many men are involved in clandestine affairs with women of color that an expose of one would cause the downfall of dozens of others. I mean they wouldn't risk retaliation. Besides, I trust that both you and Maureen have enough sense to keep your relationship quiet."
"You amaze me, Lady."
Lady winked. "If I were you, the first thing I'd do is contact Davis Wilde. He despises Jake, but stays on because he needs the job."
"I'm planning to appoint him my first deputy," Cy said, "if and when I win office."
"Great," Lady mooed in a deep contralto. "Ever meet his little sister? She sparkles like a mountain pool in the sun and is as pretty as a speckled puppy hanging out of a red Thunderbird."
Cy frowned. "You wouldn't be trying to complicate my life, would you?"
"If you are your father's son, which I strongly suspect, you can handle more than one woman. That Grace is a wonderful girl."
"Oh, brother," Cy said. "I'm already going out of my mind."
"What's the matter?" Lady asked.
"I met Fleur Manning last night at the club...."
"If I recall correctly, you two used to dash in to the brush as often as time and energy would permit.
Cy flushed hotly. "How did you know?"
"Boy, I could write a history of this county. I'm a nosy bitch. I love to mind other people's business."
Cy laughed. "Fleur has a sister, too-and wants me to meet her."
Lady chuckled. "Fleur is not only frank and honest-she's magnanimous. I'm not sure I can say the same for Kitty. She has a roving, calculating eye."
Cy nodded thoughtfully. "Well, thanks for the liquor. I've got to be going now. I'll talk to Harbison in the morning."
Lady went to the door with him. "Cy, you've made an old woman very happy tonight. I hated to see this county going to pot"
Cy turned and kissed her on the cheek. "What old woman? You get prettier every day."
Lady stamped her dainty foot. "Go long home now, you tease. We'll have a skull session in a few days."
"You're an education, Lady," Cy said. "Your understanding is as deep as the sea."
"That's because I dig people, son. You know it takes all kinds to make the world, and I dig every one."
"Except Sheriff Jonas."
"And some of his friends," she agreed.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THURSDAY'S Clarion carried a two-column story that set tongues wagging. The headline was black and tall. It blared: SHERIFF DARES QUALIFIED CITIZEN TO OPPOSE HIM IN RACE.
The first paragraph was short and to the point.
Sheriff Jake Jonas, after an abortive attempt to arrest a colored man for assault and battery, challenged Cyrus Scott, the colored man's champion, to the candidacy. Scott, the great grandson of General Sulloway Scott, has thrown his hat into the ring.
The article went on to delineate Jonas' record and the attack on Maureen Hale. Harbison's editorial was scathing.
Mrs. Ladybird Bergstrom, mistress of Hilltop, had warned the sheriff twenty-four hours in advance that attempts had been made on the girl and that another was imminent. In the presence of three witnesses, Sheriff Jonas described Mrs. Bergstrom's information as 'a cock-and-bull story.' This newspaper believes that the time has come for a change!
The effects of Harbison's publicity were tremendous. Soon the name Scott was on the lips of every man, woman and child in the county. Fables that had their beginnings in fact began to snowball. Fiction in the high heat of conversation was accepted as absolute truth.
The first action was taken by Les Corey. As soon as he had finished reading Harbison's article, he summoned Sailor Shaw and Kip Malone to his office.
The left side of Malone's face was bandaged. Shaw walked as if someone had taped a ramrod to his back.
Corey eyed them steadily as they stood nervously before his desk.
"I hate liars," he said in a flat, toneless voice.
"We told you what happened," said Malone, his cheek jerking spasmodically.
"You two brainless asses got just what you deserve. Imagine running to the sheriff with some story about Farrell. Witnesses could prove he wasn't anywhere in the vicinity."
"That's not so," said Shaw hoarsely. "I trained my gun on Scott because he had slashed Kip. Then that Farrell came from behind and cut me in two with his whip."
"I'm glad to hear it," said Corey savagely. "Scott has three witnesses plus Farrell. They would be able to laugh you out of court. Why did you have to go and cry on Jake Jonas' shoulder, anyway? That paranoid monkey nearly got himself killed. He's damn lucky that the Scott bunch didn't whip holes in him.
You had a hell of a nerve using my influence to get Jonas to go out there."
"Take it easy," whined the heavy-bodied Shaw. "I feel lousy enough-"
Corey dropped his meaty fists on the desk, then stood up. "Scram out of here as fast as you can get your stuff together, you poor, dumb bastard. As for you, Kip, I want a few more words with you...."
"What about my money?" blustered the heavy man.
"I don't run a bank," said Corey softly, "so I haven't been keeping track of it. If you're still in this county by sundown, you'll never leave. Get me?"
Shaw's face went the color of whey. He turned and stumbled from the room.
"Now, you...." Corey stared at Malone. The other could not meet his eyes. "Do you have any idea how hard I work to keep this hick county in the palm of my hand? Any idea at all?"
"I think so."
"Then what the hell are you trying to do? Ruin me? Get us all run out?"
"We got the sheriff, ain't we?"
"Yes, but for how long? Just one more slip and Jonas wouldn't be able to run for dog-catcher. Maybe the machine can shove him down the people's throat once again, but I'm not so sure. If Jonas doesn't get elected, do you know what will happen to us?"
"Oh, Jake will make it again."
"I'm glad you think so. If you weren't the prime minister of stupidity, I might feel happier. Now get out of here."
"Am I fired, too?"
"You're too good a blackjack dealer. But just one more chance, Kip, that's all you get. And if you help sink me, believe me, man, it will be your final act on this earth. Now get out of my sight. And do nothing on your own. Wait until you hear from me."
"I could kill Scott for you," said Malone slyly.
Corey sighed tiredly. "I doubt it. He's too smart for that and Buck Farrell always backs him up. What was the result of your last battle? Both of your brains are scarred for life, but Scott came off with maybe a little heartburn from losing his temper. Get out of here, Kip."
In the county seat, some eleven miles south, another conference was going on. If possible, it was as painful and one-sided as that at the club.
Judge Wesley sat in his chambers. Still draped in his robe of office, he scowled at the cigarette-pocked surface of his desk.
He looked at his clerk. "Tell Jake I want to see him, Ab."
Moments later Jake Jonas walked in. He took a chair across from the eagle-faced old man. "Hiya, Judge. How's tricks?"
The tall, graying jurist did not speak for a moment. Then he lifted his hard eyes to Jonas. Tapping a copy of the Clarion with an extended forefinger, the judge said, "Whatever made you pen this ode to political ignorance?"
"I didn't write that. Wade Harbison did. He's never liked me," Jonas complained.
"I should not have spoken in analogy. Sometimes I forget that you have almost the intelligence of a low-grade moron. I'll try to be more specific. As you know, Jake, I have an interest in local politics." He tapped the paper again. "I very much fear that you, right now, are a political carcass-and I do not care to tie my kite to a dead body. Jake, you have committed an incredibly stupid act. I have no desire to follow you into folly. Are you totally unaware of the temper of the people? Don't try to tell me that you haven't felt alarm since this came out."
"It will all blow over," Jake said. "I can't see why I should be alarmed, or you, either. Judge, you're being hasty-"
"And you're being childish," said the judge. "Immature. Since when does anyone even remotely connected with Corey speak the truth? His men misled you into trying to make a false arrest. In easily understood, basic English, I'll draw you a picture of what you have done. First you brushed off Lady Bergstrom, undisputed social arbiter in the county. That was bad enough. On top of that, you go out to Scottland and try to arrest their Negro hand. After discovering that he wasn't even on the scene, instead of apologizing and getting out, you bluster around and try to play the big man. Hell, no one but a fool would mess with old Steven Scott. The man would kill you and never stop sipping his julep."
"But," Jonas broke in, "I tell you that Buck was guilty-"
"Of what? Defending his employer from the threat of a gun? Defending a girl from rape?"
To this, Jonas had no reply. He gulped and gasped like a hooked catfish.
"I spoke to young Cy two weeks ago," the judge continued. "He not only had no intention of running, but was actively opposed to the idea. Now, due to that impetuous piece of jackassery you pulled, he is going to run."
Jonas paled. "Hell, he's just bluffin'. There ain't a man in the county who could buck me."
"You wouldn't like to place a small wager on that, would you? You'll be opposed, all right. So as of today, you're on your own, Jonas. You're as thickheaded as a billy goat Therefore, you need not look to me for support"
Jonas jumped to his feet. "I don't need you," he bragged. "I got my own ways of winnin' an election."
"I hear rumors about some of them," said the judge. "I never was in favor of peddling influence. As for scaring off the colored vote, Scott would call in federal investigators. He could get you put away."
Jonas sneered. "Yeah? Let him try. And I got this to tell you, Judge. When I win, don't try to jump on my wagon."
The county's reaction to Cy Scott's candidacy was surprising. Cy discovered that even strangers liked him, if only because of his father. It was at once gratifying and annoying.
As Cy ate supper one night, he decided to ride into town and visit Davis Wilde.
"Want company?" asked Buck, as Cy walked toward the car.
"Sure. Just going to ask Davis to be my chief deputy."
Later, as they rode along the winding road, Buck said, "Seen Maureen lately?"
"No. I've been too busy, as you know."
"That's what I told her."
"You saw her?"
"I was over there last night. My mother sent me with a package for Lula-dress goods, I think. Anyway, I felt that Maureen wanted to speak to me in private, so I gave Lula the slip."
"What did she tell you?"
"Nothing much. Naturally, Maureen is anxious about you. Said she would wait in her castle tonight."
A hot spot seemed to settle on Cy. "I'll get this trip over with in a hurry," he said in a low tone.
"That's good. She'll be glad to see you."
At the sheriff's office, Cy found Davis sitting behind the desk. "Davis, mind having a chat?"
Wilde sprang up. "Sure thing, Cy. Here or outside?"
"Well," Cy h-edged, "I have no desire to meet up with Jake."
Wilde laughed. "You won't. He went on a binge today. But let's go out"
Wilde was a man of moderate height. He had heavy, muscular shoulders, a weather-beaten face and straight black hair. His eyes were a crackling, electric blue.
"Lady Bergstrom been speaking to you?" asked Cy as they neared the car.
"Nope. Nary a word. She's been talkin' to everybody else though ... Howdy, Buck."
"Evenin', Mr. Wilde. You all sit in front. I'll climb in the back or take a walk."
"Sit tight, Buck," said Cy. "This will be among the three of us."
"You sound uncommon serious," said Davis Wilde, as he got into the car.
"I am. Davis, I want you to be my chief deputy."
Wilde was so staggered that he seemed to sway. "You want me?"
"Yes. You know the ropes and I don't. We could clean up this county-between you and me."
"That's gospel," Davis breathed. "Cy, you don't know what this will mean to me."
Cy grinned. "You sound like you think I'm going to win."
Wilde grunted. "Well, I'm hoping it. I'm on thin ice with Jake. I haven't been able to stomach him for a long time. And he refuses to give me a raise. To your question, Cy, the answer is a big yes. I know that you're a good man." They shook hands. "I'm sure we two will get along," Wilde said.
"You can bet on it," responded Cy. "Just remember, the job is yours if you want it."
Wilde laughed. "You don't have to put it in writing. The Scott word is good enough for me. But-well-before you put me on the payroll, I have a small favor to ask."
"Sure, I'd be glad to help. What's the problem?"
"Well, my baby sister's napping in the back office. She brought my supper and was going to take me home, but I can't leave yet. Would you give her a lift? She was up with the colt last night. If you'd be so kind as to take her home, she could catch up on her sleep."
"Be glad to, Davis. I don't think I've met her."
"My half-sister. She came to me when her mother died. Just wait here. I'll go get her."
He bounced out of the car and walked back into the sheriff's office.
"Now," said Buck in a low voice, "you've got a treat coming. I've seen her around once or twice. This girl is something."
"So I've been told," said Cy, anticipation tickling his spine.
Davis and his sister came through the door. The girl's lovely figure, silhouetted in the light, made Cy's adam's apple jump frantically. She wore tight jeans and a man's blue shirt. The front of it, designed to fit a flat chest, was hardly able to contain the bounty of her breasts. Her hair was dark and plaited, Indian-maid style. At the end of each pigtail was a tiny scarlet bow. Cy could see the sparkle and vitality of her face, although she was still rubbing sleep from her eyes. She had a small, pert nose and full, red lips.
"Cy, meet my sister, Grace." Davis turned to the girl. "Cy's gonna take you home, honey. Hit the hay and get some sleep. You'll have to get up good and early tomorrow morning."
"Cy," Grace said, "Davis tells me we'll be solvent for the next four years."
"Davis is optimistic. I haven't won yet and that's a necessary condition."
"Man, you should put your ear to the ground. It's in the bag," Davis insisted. "Jonas has one foot in the grave."
Grace climbed in and turned to her brother. "Better save the paperwork till tomorrow, Davis. You need rest, too."
"I can't, hon. I've got a lot to do. See you in the morning."
As they pulled away, Grace smiled at Buck. "Hi Remember me?"
"Nice to see you again, Miss Gracie."
"You and Buck acquainted?" asked Cy.
"Sure. Not long after I came, Buck helped me round up a couple of calves in the branch bottom. I couldn't have done it by myself."
The girl's infectious good humor penetrated Cy's barriers. He felt invigorated.
"How long have you been here with Davis?"
"Nearly a year. When Mom died, you know, he took me in. I went two years to college, then quit. It had become a bore and a pain. Davis was breaking his back to wring a living from his place. I decided to keep house and cook for him. That was the least I could have done. He paid more than three-quarters of my tuition. I've been awfully happy down here."
"How is your social life? I haven't seen you around."
"I spend a lot of time working with the livestock," Grace answered.
"Don't you miss companionship?"
"Oh ... I suppose so." Grace made a sinuous wriggle that brought her knees up on the seat. "But it's been said that I'm too particular. I don't go out of my way to surround myself with duds and bores. In a crowd, nothing but surface things count. You can't really get down to serious conversation."
"You like serious things, then?"
"Sure. I even have a philosophy. Live and let live." She cocked a bright eye at him. "Cy, you like to ask questions."
That should have made him come through with an apology, but the words stuck in his throat. She seemed to be asking, actually, why he was so interested in her.
And that he was interested, very much interested, was a fact he did not try to hide from her or from himself.
"Grace, you intrigue me," he said. "You're something to gladden the eye, but that's not it You-you're refreshing. Invigorating."
"Stimulating, you mean?" She laughed.
"Have it your own way. But it's my excuse for asking questions."
"I don't know you any better than you know me, Cy, so I can think of questions, too."
"Ask anything you like."
Just then they rumbled over the cattle-guard at Scottland. Buck, who had been unwontedly silent spoke up. "Might as well drop me here, Cy."
"All right. Then I'll drive Miss Grace home."
They stopped in front of the house and Buck got out. "Nice seeing you again, Miss Grace."
"Ditto, Buck. I might have to call you again some time."
"Say the word, Miss Grace ... I can outsmart any calf in the country."
The car pulled off and Grace said, "He's so nice, Cy."
Cy laughed. "He's a hell of a lot more than nice. Buck is a great man. He's the greatest I've ever run into-except my own father."
"Did he really lick Corey's men?"
"Sure did. One of them had a gun on me and Buck nearly split him up the middle."
They rode in silence after that. But a strange electricity prevailed between them. Cy thought of Maureen, and wondered how it could be that he was reacting to this woman beside him. Was he that susceptible to female flesh? He thought he had outgrown the folly of his younger days.
Suddenly he heard Grace speak.
"May I ask some of those questions?"
"Fire away."
"Why aren't you married?"
Cy laughed. "Oh, for just one reason."
"What's that?"
"Haven't met the right girl yet." At least, she wasn't the right color, Cy reflected. "Is that all?"
"Well-"
"Just never fell in love," she probed. "That would cover it, huh?"
Cy thought this over for a moment. "I can't answer that. Love is so many things to so many people."
"Are you waiting for her to come ferret you out of your den?"
"Oh, no. I expose myself to beautiful women every chance I get-just as I'm doing now."
Grace laughed low and clear. "Oh, Cy ... You're precious."
"That's what you think. You don't know me."
"I'm not as ignorant about you as I've pretended," Grace assured him. "No?"
"My boy, you're Lady Bergstrom's fair-haired young man. Don't ever forget it." Cy felt his heart sink. So Lady Bergstrom had been bragging him up to Grace, had she? "You two have been talking about me?"
"I'll say we have. I know your record from way back."
"How far?"
"Oh-grammar school. Lady said that every time a pretty girl walks across the room, you get up and follow. It's a compulsion. You can't help yourself." Grace turned a laughing face to him. "Cy, if I walked across a room, would you stand up and follow?"
"Yes, I probably would. Trouble is, so would everyone else who could call themselves male."
Grace giggled. Placing her back against the seat, she slid forward. This move tightened the already close-fitting crotch of her jeans and shot her breasts into high, pointing relief. Was Grace wearing a bra? Cy did not think so, because not a seam could he detect.
"Please don't think me awful, Cy, but I'm proud of my chest," she said.
"What a tragedy it would be if you were unaware of your attributes."
"I realize that," Grace said in a low voice. She faced him again. "Cy, I like to be wanted. That's a pretty bitchy thing to say, but it's true."
He grinned. "You're a woman, aren't you?"
"I always thought so."
"Not for one moment did I doubt it. The question was academic."
Grace said, "Yes-but when men want me, I feel sure of my womanhood. Without the slightest intention of giving myself, I play up to men. That's what's wrong with me."
"You dress to attract, but I'm sure you have a limit to which you wish to attract."
She let her left hand creep up to rest warmly on Cy's shoulder. "I've had battles about that. I always want the fellow to think there's no limit."
"Oh, quit punishing yourself. Your actions are quite normal. You may be outgoing, but there's no harm in that."
She squeezed his shoulder. "Take you, for instance. You're some hunk of man, you know. If you said good night without trying to kiss me, I'd be fearfully put out."
Cy answered solemnly, "Knowing in advance that I will be repulsed and maybe slapped, I'll try."
Grace cocked her pert head to one side, her blue eyes dark in the starlight. "Cy Scott, what raw tactics you employ. If I don't let you kiss me, you can airily say, 'Oh, well, I knew that would happen. I tried only because you wanted me to.' That's terrible of you."
"Ah, our first fight and we've known each other all of one hour."
She switched around and faced forward again. "Ooooh ... an hour-and look at the ground we've covered."
A chill touched Cy's spine. "Yes, we have become-uh-rather intimate."
The girl felt no chill. She was full of warm, trickly sensations. She wriggled, then faced him. "I hate to be...." Her voice caught for a moment. Cy could see her accelerated respiration and knew that some stormy emotion was threatening her. "I hate to be rushed along like this."
"I'm sorry. I didn't know I was pushing you."
"Oh, shut up," she flared. "It's my own doing. I could have sat still and demure and not said a word. If that had happened, you would have taken me home and said good night. That would have been the end of Cy for Grace. Right?"
"Probably," Cy admitted.
"See? But I had to go and open my big mouth. Now look where we are." She dropped her forehead to his shoulder. "We're on the verge of something. I know it. I'm scared, Cy."
"Why? Surely you're not afraid of me."
"Oh ... Not really. I'm afraid of this spell of golden gladness you've woven around me. The scary part is that you haven't tried. You haven't encouraged me, courted me. You've just been yourself. Maybe that's what has thrown me into a tailspin. Cy, if you kiss me, I'll go to pieces."
It was like an echo of Maureen's voice. Cy could not understand how he could have Maureen, yet be attracted to another girl.
"And if I don't kiss you?" he asked.
She raised her head. Her long, black lashes were damp with tears. "If you don't kiss me, I'll murder you."
She dried her eyes on the back of a hand, and soon was lighthearted and sprightly again.
Cy slowed as they passed over a cattle-gap leading to Davis Wilde's house. "Grace, you said that you've had battles because men want you. Have you ever lost?"
She laughed so gaily that Cy was nettled. "What a way to ask a girl if she's a virgin." Then she sobered. "No, Cy, I've never lost," she said.
"I didn't ask out of mere curiosity, Grace, believe me."
"Oh?"
Cy grinned at her. "I'll tell you why some day." He pulled up under a spreading chinaberry tree.
Grace lifted her hands to her face. "Oh ... Now I am scared, Cy. Please don't be angry at me. But-but-what are you going to do?"
Cy placed a big, gentle hand on her hair, stroked it. "Look, you're all strung up. Suppose we talk about this some other time."
She raised her head. Her deep eyes were fathomless. "No," she whispered. "I'd hate myself for being a coward ... Just one thing, Cy. I know right now that if you made a pass, I'm not strong enough to resist you. Please promise me that if I lose my head, you'll keep yours."
"I can do that," he replied, "but it might be a mistake."
"That's why I'm afraid." She crept slowly into his arms. "Be my master, Cy ... Tell me what to do and make me do it ... Please!"
When their lips touched, a tremendous gong sounded. Their bodies swirled, swelled and seemed rent asunder by a sweetness beyond their power to gain. A chorus of shuddering groans welled from Grace's throat. So frantic was the flogging of her nerves that every muscle in her body twitched.
They had remained in the front seat and she lay across him, but her hunger proved too great for this supine position. With a sudden movement, she straddled him and put such cruel pressure on his mouth that his neck bent backward. He had to use muscle to oppose her. His hands stroked the fine lines of her back, neck and shoulders. She moaned, then squeezed herself down upon him, her legs spreading wide. A serpentine undulation rippled through her. She froze in tense, muscle-cracking tension, then collapsed on his broad chest, her breath coming in scattered sobs, her fingers digging painfully into his back.
For a long time she lay complacent and still, then raised her glassy eyes to him. "It was just too much, Cy."
"I know," he said, fondling her gently.
"You do?"
"Yes."
She took her arms from around his neck and hugged herself. Her hair was softly rich and a faint fragrance came from its depths.
"I'd better take you in now," he said.
"It's not right doing this to you, Cy. I'm really awful."
"You're wonderful," he said. He helped her from the car and with an arm about her, took her to the door. They kissed again, but it was a sweet and gentle kiss now. He thrilled to the warmth of her close-pressed body in its loose shirt and tight pants. Her smooth thighs and the exciting prod of her firm, passion-tipped breasts incited his lust, but he did not attempt to force himself upon her. They drew apart, blood beginning anew to thunder and roar in their ears.
"Cy...?" Grace was caressing him now. "Will you promise not to touch me if I show you something?"
"If you want me to," he said huskily, "I promise." Swiftly she ducked out of her shirt, let it trail from one hand.
"Look, Cy...." She stood before him, nude from the waist up. Her cherry-tipped breasts trembled. Raw, naked worship shone in Cy's eyes-worship of her? Of her beautiful, revealed flesh? Of womanhood?
Remembering Maureen, Maureen's golden breasts, he felt a pang like a dagger thrust. He pulled back.
With a cry of utter abandon, Grace leaped into his arms.
"Don't go, Cy ... Please don't go." She seized him in a painful grip, her nails clawing his biceps. "Oh, God. I just can't stand it. I want you. I want you!"
At that moment, a car rattled over the cattle-gap. Beams of garish light reached toward them.
"Christ," breathed Grace. "I suppose I deserve this."
Cy said soothingly, "We'll meet again, Grace. I want you to feel right about it next time."
"I will, Cy ... Oh, my God, why did Davis have to come home now?"
The car swung behind the house and turned toward the garage. Grace swiftly slipped into her shirt.
"What if he had come the front way? We're lucky he didn't catch us." She whirled and disappeared into the house.
Cy walked to the garage, had a few words with Davis, then drove toward Maureen's castle. With a jerk he pulled up in front of the old place and checked his watch. It was nine-thirty. He strode up the walk and smiled as Maureen opened the door for him. She stood there in regal grace, silhouetted by candlelight, and his heart gave a furious lurch. He went to her. Their embrace was fierce, starved. Maureen was wearing a simple terry robe. He brushed it aside and helped himself to her swelling breasts.
"I'm so glad you could come," the girl said. "I've been aching for you. I can't think of anything but you."
Her hair was loose and delicately fragrant in his nostrils.
He nuzzled her velvety neck and said, "I'm the one who needs the bath tonight."
She joined her body to his, clutching him feverishly. "May I help?"
"Would you, Maureen?"
Up to their chests in water, too heated to know chill, they soaped and scrubbed, and then gave way to an avalanche of emotion. Against Maureen's back was the mossy bank, resilient and slick. Their lovemaking was frenzied. Maureen made the most of Eros, her hands raking trails of fire across Cy's sinews. She sought him blindly, a gasping peal of triumph pouring from her throat.
And Cy, his mouth seeking deeper reaches of sweetness, clutched her to him. As his manhood found the heart of her, the water frothed with their unashamed thrashing and heaving.
Later they made an unsteady ascent up the rude steps leading to the house. With two towels they dried, then clung together for mutual warmth. They made their way to the back room and lay silent upon the old couch. Inactivity did not last long.
Once more the burst of fire. Once more the furiously sweet surging of flesh within flesh, of ecstasy hot and exploding....
CHAPTER EIGHT
A COUPLE of days later, Cy Scott formally filed his candidacy. As he stepped from the courthouse, he found himself confronted by a slinky blonde. She was wearing green eye-shadow and long green fingernails.
"Why, it's Cy Scott, the man who's running for sheriff," she bubbled giving him the benefit of fluttery eyelids. "I've heard so much about you-but I'll bet you don't know me from Adam."
"I'm afraid you're right," Cy confessed, hating the apology in his voice. "Should I?"
The girl backed away a bit, hands on hips, so that he could get a look at her. Her legs were long and shapely. Her complexion reminded Cy of strawberries and cream. She was squeezed into a tight skirt and a skimpy blouse.
"I'm Kitty Manning-Fleur's sister." She compressed her features into a knot and playfully pinched Cy on his rear end. "I know you like Fleur a lot. But after all, she's older than you are. Much older. Bet you'd rather have a less mature girl, wouldn't you, Cy? A girl my age?"
"Hardly," he said, resisting an impulse to turn her over and paddle her. "You're much too young."
She lifted bold eyes to his. "Am I, now? Too young for what?"
Her mouth was caked with pale lipstick and she held it half open, as if deliberately trying to appear sexy; it was as round as a golf ball. Her face seemed not much bigger than his fist, for the tremendous balloon of her platinum hair, worn according to the latest teen style, dwarfed her countenance.
"Oh, oh-here comes Fleur," the teen-ager said. "She'll skin me alive."
Cy, intrigued now, said, "Fleur has practically promised you to me. She and I are only good friends, and she wouldn't be jealous or anything-so why would she skin you alive?"
"On general principles, silly. She just doesn't like the way I behave-and particularly with men."
Just the same, when the older woman approached, she was smiling. "Well, I see you two have met. Isn't Kitty a doll, Cy?"
"She sure is."
Fleur grinned. "You aren't busy now, are you?"
"I'm as free as a bird, Fleur. Your boss heard the news?"
There was a moment of difficult silence. Grinning expectantly, Kitty glanced from Cy to her sister.
"Yes, he's heard," Fleur said finally. "And he doesn't like it. Going to shut us down, Cy?"
"If Corey doesn't keep his nose clean, I will," Cy threatened. "Think I'll win this election?"
"You couldn't lose," cooed Kitty, poking a lithe, assertive breast into Cy's arm. "I wish I were old enough to vote."
"Cy, would you do something for me? Kitty has to get back to the house and since I can't leave town yet, she's stuck for a ride. Give her a lift home, will you? You'd be doing me a favor."
"Yourself, too, Cy," said Kitty brazenly.
He pointed to his car, half a block away. "Go get in, Kitty. I want to talk politics with Fleur."
With an arch look, Kitty turned and walked away, her lavishly curved derriere swinging prettily.
"Whooie," Cy breathed as he turned to Fleur. "This whole deal, from start to finish, has the ring of a lead nickel."
"What? I don't follow you, boy."
He fixed his gray eyes on her. "You told me that Kitty is a juicy catch. But look at her. With that hairdo and that gunky crap on her mouth-why, she's a freak. A cute one, and too sexy a little bitch for a man to look away-but a freak just the same."
"Oh, Cy, you're so right," Fleur agreed unhappily.
"Besides that," Cy complained, "she pours out hints that aren't hints at all, but promises. Kitty talks like an undereducated streetwalker."
Fleur sighed and turned away. "I know, Cy. I love my sister very much, but...." She shrugged. "Let's face it. Kitty is a spoiled, scheming brat. I had hoped that you would see her at home, without all that war paint on. Unless I'm wrong, Kitty represents just about everything in a girl that you don't like."
"That's putting it mildly," Cy said crisply. "All right, then. Why were you so anxious for me to meet her? Why are you pushing her on me now?"
"I've been hoping," Fleur said in a dull voice, "that you would take a tumble. I thought that maybe you would be a good influence on her, straighten her out A real man can do wonders for a girl."
"I see. Well, maybe I can do something." Cy added mildly, "By the way, forgive me for not seeing you last Sunday. I-I was tied up."
"Oh, that's all right. I was planning to take you home to meet the problem child, though. Getting you two together has been on my mind-"
"Is that why you sent her to waylay me at the courthouse?"
Fleur was so astonished by this that her rosy mouth fell open. Then a flush of anger rose to her cheeks. "Waylay you? What are you driving at? I didn't even know you were in town!"
"Well, Kitty did. She was standing at the steps, watching for me. I don't get it. I still say something is as phony as a lead nickel." He tried to keep suspicion of Fleur out of his thoughts and his expression. But after all, she did own a piece of the club. Maybe she was not so anxious to see an honest sheriff elected.
Fleur was controlling her temper with difficulty. "Cy, we're not strangers. You don't think I-" She stopped, drew a fresh breath. "Come out with it What's on your mind?"
"Jake is planning to put an extra spoke in my wheel. The tip is that he might be using a girl."
"Who told you that?" demanded Fleur skeptically.
"Davis Wilde, that's who. He's a deputy. He comes by all sorts of information."
"Davis?"
Fleur's countenance changed. She seemed to forget her anger, and a soft look came into her eyes.
"Davis is an old admirer of mine," she confided. "He's a wonderful fellow. If it hadn't been that I was carrying the torch for you, Cy-"
"Let's not get off the subject." Cy watched her closely. "Has Jonas spoken to Corey about me?"
"I don't know. They met at Les's camp. Jake stays away from the club. Why?" Before Cy could reply, she jumped as though she had been shot. "Oh, no!" Then she blurted, "I've just remembered something."
"It's about time. Are you for me or against me?" Cy gripped her arm. "What's the scoop?"
"Les Corey rolled out the welcome mat for Kitty last night. She spent hours in his room."
"Did Les deflower her?" Cy asked.
Fleur smiled wanly. "I doubt that. She gave it up a long time ago." She considered for a moment. "I hadn't thought about it happening up there, but now that you mention it, it might have. She was so bubbly and high when we left that I felt like smacking her bottom."
Cy nodded. "On the ride home, did she mention me?"
Fleur looked a little startled. "That's what I'm trying to tell you. She asked a hundred questions about you. Cy, is it possible? Surely, you don't think that Les...."
"I'm trying to think of everything," Cy said. "Les Corey knows that cute chicks are my weakness."
Fleur touched his shoulder. "Cy, don't let that little bitch get you into trouble. I was a fool to think that you could learn to love her."
"Love her!" Cy shivered, then laughed tensely. "We'd be as compatible as water and gasoline."
"I know. It was one chance in a million, anyway. But you won't marry me, so I was dreaming that maybe you would marry her. You're the one man who could control her, give her a good life-"
"Especially since I happen to be fairly wealthy," Cy commented wryly. He stared closely at Fleur. Could she be play-acting? Was she in on this plot-and, now that he had caught on to it, was she trying falsely to convince him that she was not a part of it. After all, Kitty was her sister. Who more than Fleur would have the influence to put the kid on his trail?
"The more I think about it, the more worried I get," Fleur said, as if aware of his doubts and trying to slake them. "I wouldn't put it past Kitty to get you into trouble-some compromising situation, maybe a phony assault or rape charge, or something. Cy, watch your step!"
"Do you think that Kitty is that bad?"
"Money is Kitty's god," Fleur said. "Maybe Les offered her money-or Jake did." She gave him a trembly smile. "It's a good thing Davis Wilde is on your side. You know, he's the kind who would make a wonderful husband. Maybe he's the one on whom I should have turned Kitty loose."
Cy's face was grave. "Fleur-Davis is a great fellow. I've known him a long time. He'd be good for any girl."
Fleur's smile tried to widen, but broke and disappeared. "Tell Davis I've been asking about him, will you? I've been thinking a lot about him lately."
"I'll do that, Fleur. It's a promise."
"And, Cy, be careful. Please don't take my feelings into account. Protect yourself from Kitty any way you have to."
As soon as Cy reached the car, Kitty started jabbering. "Well, Mr. Sheriff, it took you long enough. I'm sure that you weren't discussing politics all that while. I may be young, but I'm not innocent."
"When I was nineteen," Cy said, "I thought that I was the smartest guy around. It's a disease of youth."
Kitty's eyes grew hot and she promptly lost some of her spurious poise. "Says you, big boy."
"That crack would have been appropriate thirty years ago," Cy remarked. "However, it's better than all this modern hip talk."
"What's wrong with being hip?" Kitty was growing hotter by the minute.
"Nothing. The stuff is fine for adolescents. It's the next step up from baby-talk."
Kitty decided that he was pulling her leg, cheerfully abandoned the debate and relapsed into her pose.
"Come off it, Mr. Sheriff. I don't want to go home yet. Let's travel!"
"Where to?" Cy asked. "And for what?"
"For three martinis, of course."
"Sounds good. Shall we try the club?"
"Ixnay. Too ickie. I want kookie."
"How about that place over near the airport. The one where the kids go?"
"Man, that's the greatest. Those rainbow lights send me. What's starving your horses?"
Cy kicked his car into action. By the time they reached the neon-dripping shack, full night had fallen and the garish display of electric color made a great gash in the darkness. If and when he won the impending election, Cy mused, he would look into the tavern's affairs. It was well-known that the proprietor sold liquor to teens.
No matter what the reputation of the place, its martinis were excellent. While lapping them up, Cy did some serious thinking. He decided to go along with Kitty as far as she wanted to go. His best procedure, he figured would be to give her enough rope to hang herself. He could not get over the conviction that she was the bait in some kind of trap-Corey's trap, or maybe Corey's and Fleur's. And Cy decided further that since it was a game anyhow, he might as well enjoy it to the fullest.
Accordingly, he ordered U. S. Prime and salad for himself, but the girl refused to eat. She began to bubble and effervesce with such vivacity that even the hard-faced bartender was forced to raise an eyebrow.
"Gotta see a man about a dog," Cy said, standing up and heading for the men's room. Kitty giggled and flounced along behind him, arching the muzzles of her impertinent breasts. "I've got a date with John. When I come out, I'll be a big girl."
"I'll check into that," Cy replied.
"Is that a promise?"
"If you want it to be."
The car moved down the crooked, tree-shrouded road and Kitty found her voice. "I'm having a ball. Those drinks got to me." She slid closer to him on the seat. "You promised I could show you what a big girl I am."
"How can you do that? You're still a kid, really. Cute-but a kid."
"Oh, you think so, do you? Just find us a hole in these woods."
A mile later, a dirt side road led them to a woodsy bower among the slash pines. Cy parked the car, killed the motor and turned to meet a woman whose lips were fire. Kitty twisted and writhed, her mouth trying to suck Cy's breath from his lungs.
It could not be an act, Cy told himself. Kitty was too vibrantly lustful, too bursting with need, to be pretending.
She proved shortly thereafter that she was no virgin, but it was clear that her experience had been solely with lads of her own age. When Cy carried her along that star-spangled path to the heights, she sobbed fitfully.
Later they drove slowly toward the Manning house. Kitty was balled up on the seat, her head in Cy's lap.
"We're there," he said lightly.
"I want to stay with you," Kitty said with the stubbornness of a woman who has just been loved to her absolute limit. "I don't want to go in."
"I'm afraid you'll have to," Cy said gently.
At the gate, her eyes were large and soft and lips trembling. "When will I see you again, Cy?"
"Hard to say. I've got to get my campaign rolling. I'll give you a call as soon as I'm free."
Her eyes hardened. "That sounds like a brush-off."
"Corey will help you to wile away the time." Kitty went pale and stumbled back a step. "Get out of here," she flared. "Get out, you crum!"
CHAPTER NINE
THE NEXT night, after supper, Cy and Buck sat drinking highballs. Cy put down his tumbler and stared at the bigger man.
"Buck, how many women can a man love at one time?"
Buck hid his grin behind a glass. "I've been in love with three at once."
"Oh, come off it. I'm serious."
Buck slowly put his glass down. "I wasn't kidding."
"But that's impossible."
"Well, it wore off pretty quick," Buck admitted. Was it possible, he was asking himself. Could a man who possessed Maureen want anything more? "How many are worrying you right now?"
"Two-Maureen and Grace. What's more, this upcoming election has been bugging me, too."
Grace, thought Buck. Grace! What could a man see in that pale creature? He sighed and said, "You should stop fretting about the election. It's in the bag, believe me. Of course, to be on the safe side, it wouldn't hurt to do a little campaigning."
"I've been hoodwinked into running. I'm not even sure I want the job."
Buck registered alarm. "You don't figure on backing out, do you? That would be a hell of a thing!"
"Don't worry. I'm stuck with it, I guess."
The two built themselves fresh drinks, sat and sipped for a while. Then Cy returned to the topic nearest his heart.
"Buck, for years I've been told a man can love but one woman."
"The rules may say one thing, but a man's inner fire can tell him otherwise. Miss Grace threw a big one on you, hey?"
"Yup. It happened too fast. I have a feeling that she just tripped and fell."
"And you took two steps and floundered into the same puddle."
"Something like that." Cy stood up. "I suppose I should see Lady Bergstrom tonight. We've got strategy to map."
But as he turned to go, the telephone rang. Cy lifted the receiver and heard Kitty's voice. She was in a state of tearful apology. "I'm awfully sorry I yelled at you, Cy. It was just that you-well, you sort of insulted me."
"Did I?"
"Cy, I want to see you so badly ... May I? Tonight?"
Cy felt a strange flicker ripple up his spine. Guiltily, he said, "Well-"
"Please, Cy? We can go to Mr. Wise's camp on the river. He told me I could use it whenever I want to."
How does she come to know Perry Wise, wondered Cy. The man's character was shadowy. No one seemed to know his game, although rumor had it that he made a living playing the horses. Cy's mind worked like lightning. "I'm busy right now, but maybe a little later I'll be able to see you."
"Any time, Cy. I can't leave until nine...." She stopped. "I'm kind of busy myself."
"How about ten-thirty?"
"That would be fine, Cy. Just fine."
Cy hung up and checked his watch. "Buck, how long would it take to get to Wise's camp?"
Buck stood up. "Twenty minutes, if we push hard."
"Are those leather snakes still soaking?"
Buck's eyes narrowed in his handsome head. "You told me to stow 'em in water, didn't you?"
"Fine. Grab 'em and saddle up."
Like attacking Tartars, Cy and Buck tore through the woods. Brush flanked the old lumber path and whipped them every step of the way. Buck rode Steven Scott's prize mare and Cy sat a gray stud that carried him through the night like an arrow. He stretched out over the stallion's neck and gave the speedy animal its head.
"Take the fork to the left," yelled Buck.
Cy felt the furious explosion of equine musculature as the animal leaped a rivulet his rider could not see. When they had reached the east bank of the river, Cy pulled up for a moment to let the horses rest.
"Mind tellin' me what's up?" Buck said.
"Looks like Jake and his friends have set me up for the kill. I think Corey is using that young sister of Fleur's to suck me into something. I want to arrive ahead of Kitty and see what's cooking."
"Let's get going then," Buck said.
They rode into the stream. As they emerged, Buck was fingering his whip.
"I'm beginning to get sore," the big Negro breathed. "If Corey shows up, he'll be sorry."
"That's putting it mildly. I wonder who he'll bring to back him up? I could lick four men."
"Boy, you sound rambunctious tonight."
"I am. If there's anything I hate, it's dirty politics."
"I suppose they want to get something on you they can publish in the papers. Pictures or something."
"The kind of pictures they're after aren't publishable. But if Corey wants to play rough, he's got a contender."
Buck glanced at Cy's dark profile. "You're a match for any man," he said. "Even me, maybe."
The camp consisted of an old but rather pretentious cabin and a few outbuildings. It had recently been renovated. The grounds were kept up pretty well, but the forest in places leaned over the high wooden fence. A full moon cast a soft luminous enchantment over the yard. The house stood on a bluff overlooking the river. A path, worn smooth by cattle, disappeared into the pines.
Cy and Buck tied their horses a hundred yards from the fence and made their way toward it on foot. The house, they discovered was deserted. The night was clear and warm and the sky was speckled with stars. Across the river, a thrush sang sleepily. Katy dids kept up their incessant argument in the lush grass. A bullfrog coughed heavily and a nighthawk answered.
Buck and Cy stood silently in the shadows, drinking in the beauty of the nocturnal scene.
"How could anyone have an evil thought on a night like this?" asked Buck, taking off his hat and letting the air cool his tight hair.
"I wonder," murmured Cy. "Imagine a kid like Kitty involved with criminals. It frightens me."
Buck sighed and replaced his hat. "Sometimes I think all the trouble in the world is caused by people with dollar signs for eyes. That can make a whore of a girl and a killer of a man."
"Amen ... What time does that cuckoo clock of yours register? I can't read mine in the dark."
"Don't talk nasty about my watch," said Buck. "It was given me by a man whose friendship I cherish." He glanced at the luminous dial. "Ten to nine."
Cy, who had bought the watch for Buck years before, blushed and punched Buck lightly on the arm. "You big lunk," he said affectionately.
"I got big ears, too," Buck said. "I think I hear a car."
"You're right. It's coming up the hill." Cy listened for a moment. "Still five or six miles off, I'd say."
"What's on the program?"
"Just follow my lead."
"This here whip picked up a pound and a half of water," said Buck. "I could bust somebody's behind wide open."
Cy shook his whip, hefting the added weight. "Where did you ever light on to this wet-whip trick?"
"Oh, I've seen your daddy do it a couple of times. He can really throw a bad blacksnake. But he learned from my own dad, who used to be a mule-skinner. Yeah, in their salad days, I hear, both men were a mite free with the snake-While he was still alive, he used it now and again."
"Didn't people resent it?"
"Well, I reckon they did, but the ones who got hurt kept their mouths shut. I remember your daddy like to killed Gil Cuppy when he took a whip to me-"
"Funny how upset Dad was," Cy said. "He acted as if you were his only child."
Buck looked at him sharply. "That could mean a lot of things. Somebody been telling stories out of school?"
Cy grinned from ear to ear. "Well, you are pretty light-colored."
"So what? You're pretty dark."
"You got me there," Cy admitted. "Seriously, though, Lady Bergstrom has been telling me my Dad has not been altogether celibate all his life-has an eye for a pretty brown girl, especially. You wouldn't happen to be my brother, would you?"
"What if I were? Ashamed of a colored relative?"
"Want to get thrown off that bluff?"
"Just asking."
"Buck-if you were really my brother, nothing would make me happier. Not that I could love you more, you lunkhead. When title to Scottland passes to me, you're going to find out about that."
He seized Buck's hand. The two exchanged a hard, solemn grip. Then both, embarrassed, coughed and shuffled and looked away from each other.
"Who you callin' a lunkhead, boy?" demanded Buck. "I ought to beat the tar out of you."
"You try it. You may be bigger than me, but-"
"And smarter than you, too," said Buck. "Smart enough to know that we may be half-brothers, but we'd best believe what my mom told me. Your daddy and her didn't start consoling each other till after their respective spouses were dead."
"You know about it then? Auntie Violet told you?"
"That's right."
"She should have told me. I had to learn it from Lady Bergstrom. Well, I give the old man credit for picking himself a spicy chick-"
"Yeah, they're a cute pair, all right. Ma always did like a man with a little cattle smell on him."
The two men doubled over in silent mirth, afraid to roar out their laughter because they were expecting company.
All this time, the sound of the approaching automobile had been growing louder and louder. Now Cy and Buck froze in the dark, for the twin beams of headlights stabbed the sky. Soon the engine noise stopped. Low voices came to them from below. Barely visible in the moonlight, heads appeared on the stairway that led from camp level to the water.
"They won't be able to see us," whispered Cy. "You go around and get on one side of that gate. I'll take this side."
Buck faded into the night and Cy edged softly into position.
Carrying flashlights, two men puffed up the steps and stopped at the top, waiting for a third who was staggering under camera equipment. Cy recognized Sheriff Jake Jonas and Les Corey. The third man, Cy did not know-but felt no pity for what might happen to the fellow.
The men circled the house, then stopped. They held a conference.
"Willet, are you sure that you know what you're to do?" Corey barked.
The man carrying the equipment nodded. "Bug the place and take pictures."
Corey glanced at his watch. "Will it take you more than half an hour to set up your tripod and rig the lights? Kitty said that Scott wouldn't arrive before ten-thirty, but I don't want anything to go wrong."
"I'll have to scout and see how the windows are placed. We might have to take the curtains down."
"There ain't no curtains," said Jonas. "Just them bamboo blinds."
"I can take a shot right through those," said the photographer, "if we spread a couple of the slats."
"Now," continued the sheriff, "we want this to be good. Better set up two mikes, one in the parlor and the other in the bedroom. These love scenes will screw Scott out of twenty thousand votes."
"Tape alone may not do it. Insufficient identification, maybe," put in Corey. "As soon as the party warms up, sequence pictures should be taken. That infrared lamp won't give you away, will it?"
"No," said the cameraman. "I could be right on top of him and he would never realize it."
"Les," the sheriff said, "you were smart not to try and use Fleur-she would never have gone through with it. Probably would have warned him, if she had known anything."
"Yeah. I wouldn't have considered her at all, except I didn't think a grown man would fall for a cheap floosie like Kitty," said Les Corey. "What a sucker he is!"
"The poor, dumb bastard," agreed Jake Jonas, while the others gloatingly laughed.
That was too much. Cy felt a charge of hot blood.
He stood erect and motioned to Buck.
Then out of the night hissed two whips, each exploding like a rifle shot.
Jake Jonas bawled hoarsely. He backed into the photographer, knocking a camera to the ground. Other camera gear spilled from bags and scattered on the grass. Corey, a bubbling scream of pure agony bursting from his throat, had fallen flat on his back.
Now the air was singing with the fury of the cutting lashes. One found Jonas, who let out a roar of pain. Scrambling to his feet, he ran toward the gate, but just before he reached safety, the long whip in Buck's practiced hand licked out and raised a blood blister on the man's buttock. Screaming, Jonas dropped over the bluff into the water.
Then both whips went to work on the prone figures scrabbling through the grass. The photographer, in a mad effort to escape his punishment, rolled and writhed, finally managed to reach to the edge of the bluff. He plunged over after Jonas.
Corey was screaming and floundering like a beached shad. He made a sudden dash for it, running in reckless terror, and took a headlong dive down the steps.
Still burning with fury, Cy walked off into the woods with the cries of the tortured men ringing in his ears. Buck followed quietly.
In silence the two mounted their horses and rode into the night.
The abortive attempt to put Cy Scott on exhibit to the public in a bad light had repercussions that neither Corey nor Jonas could have foreseen. By the nature of Davis Wilde's office, he had been aware that trouble was brewing, and he had tracked the sheriff's party to the camp. Arriving just after Cy and Buck had ridden off, Davis found the injured men still there. Wet and dripping from the bath in the river, the cameraman was sobbing wretchedly and Jonas was cursing and shouting at the top of his voice. Corey lay near them, his face white with pain. Corey was in shock and would not allow the others to touch him. He kept moaning for an ambulance, which arrived in due time. But it turned out that one of its riders was Harbison of the Clarion. At about the same time, Kitty Manning arrived. She was so astounded by the turn of events that she blurted everything she knew to Davis Wilde and Harbison.
Later, Harbison made a few telephone calls, spoke to Cy and Buck, among' others. The next day's paper carried the story as Harbison had got it, without gloss or editorial comment. Corey and Jonas, both hospitalized, received a few curious visitors. They swore up and down that Scott had taken unfair advantage, but no one listened with much sympathy.
One of Corey's callers was a tearful Kitty, who swore on a Bible that she had followed his orders to the letter. Corey, knowing something of her love for money, believed her. But he could not forgive her for opening her mouth to Harbison. Black anger settled like a blanket over Corey and hate so poisoned him that he wept occasionally at night when none could hear. Corey had loved the good life and now he felt it slipping away. Cy's victory in the election was assured.
CHAPTER TEN
LADY BERGSTROM roared with laughter when Cy told her of the debacle at the fishing camp.
"How I wish I could have seen that. I bet Corey will never again be able to stand up straight. I remember when my late husband took a wet whip to some punk who had called him a name, and-oh, well, never mind. Here, drink this."
Although it was only midmorning, Lady shoved a tall highball into Cy's hands. He had ridden over for the double purpose of telling her of the incident with Corey and talking about his love life.
She did not let conversation languish. "Who are you seeing today, Maureen or Grace?"
Cy flushed, hiding his embarrassment by taking a long sip. "Lady, I'm confused. It doesn't seem possible, but I think I love both girls. Certainly I can't choose between them."
"That's nothing new for a man," Lady said brassily. "You may think it puts you up to your knees in trouble, boy. But there's no earthly reason why you should give up one of the girls-if you really do love both, that is. We have already decided that you're man enough for two."
"We have?"
"Well-I have."
"Thanks. Just the same, I don't think it's cricket not to let Grace know about Maureen. Or vice versa."
"Maybe it ain't," said Lady, "but you would be plain stupid to tell either one. Frankness and honesty are fine, but only at the right times. If the races could intermarry down around here, maybe you would be forced to choose which young lady should get the ring. However, you and Maureen simply cannot marry, saving you the necessity to make that choice-"
"Sure, but if I go on seeing her, suppose Grace finds out?"
"It won't stain your image. If a woman is trying to possess a man's soul, he has every right to leave her. And that's the usual course a man takes. She should know that, and be tolerant. Many's the gent who really means it when he promises to cleave forever to one mate, but men wander now and again. I buried three husbands who proved that they, like me, could love more than one person. My kind of love was bigger than my jealousy. Women borrowed them occasionally, but my men always came back."
"I'm going to send Maureen to school this year," Cy said. "Who knows-maybe that way the problem will resolve itself."
"I'll pay for her tuition," Lady volunteered. "I've been thinking about doing that for a long time."
"Let me chip in, Lady."
"Nope, I don't think I will. There aren't many satisfactions left to an aging woman. I think I'll keep that one to myself."
Cy sighed and took another drink. "I should see Grace, but I'm scared."
"Of what?"
He shook his head slowly. "She's snowed me," Cy said. "And it only took one hour. I can't understand it."
"Another conventional virus," Lady barked. "You've swallowed the whole story that love proceeds down tortuous paths. When it comes to women, you're not the patient type. Think back. Who were your big loves and how long did it take for you to know it?"
Cy grinned wryly. "You've been reading my mail. I've had the usual crushes-one real, big one that's still with me. It happened the instant I saw her dress blow up over her behind."
Lady chuckled loudly. "Now that's a good reason, son. Was it a nice fanny?"
"Tops. I think my heart stopped for a few beats, then I twitched like a fish on a hook. By the way," he said, changing to a safer subject, "am I still popular with the voters?"
"You're a shoo-in. Judge Wesley and the county organization have dumped Jonas. After that incident last night, Jake might just as well withdraw."
"If Jonas quits," said Cy soberly, "I'll withdraw myself-in favor of Davis Wilde."
Lady squinted her hard, blue eyes at him. "You still don't like the idea of playing sheriff, do you?"
"Not exactly."
"Davis is a top-notch man who would make a good sheriff," Lady said thoughtfully. "If you do withdraw in favor of Davis, you won't hear a peep from me."
Cy stood up. "Have you ever talked to Maureen about going to school?"
"Yes. She would be tickled to death to go-in fact, she was on the point of matriculating for the fall semester-but then you came along. Now she can't stand the idea of being away from you."
Cy jumped to his feet. "Believe me, I know how she feels! I can't stand the idea of being away from her, either. Grace or no Grace-I'll suffer." He clenched his fists. "But I can't block her off from education, from life. Regardless of Maureen's feelings or mine, she must go to school. That's what I've decided. Her talent is too great for it to be wasted!"
Lady gazed at him keenly. "She would be gone a long time, Cy."
"I know that, and as I said, I'll suffer. But some day she'll be back."
"She may never come back-especially if she wins recognition as an artist. And while she's away, she may meet some other man...."
"Those are chances I'll have to take," Cy muttered.
"That's my boy," Lady said softly.
"Think you could talk her into going?"
"Sure. I'll simply tell her that you want her to go."
For three days Cy stayed home and pondered, then he saddled up and rode toward Davis Wilde's place. Overhead the giant trees formed a leafy canopy. It was cool and peaceful and Cy's big horse nodded approval of the scene.
Cy took a short cut through a seldom-used woods and approached the house from the east. Grace was hanging out clothes. The moment she saw him, she sprinted for the house. She was dressed in Levis and a man's shirt. Cy wondered, with a fearful pang, whether she were running away from him.
He was sweating, his heart jumping madly. Recalling their last heated meeting, he sighed so profoundly that his horse neighed.
The front door was open and Cy knocked on the facing, walked inside. Grace's head appeared through the bedroom door, her face alight, shining, untouched by make-up. "Darn you," she shouted. "I made a promise to myself that the next time you showed I'd look like a lady, not a ragged orphan. Hold it a few minutes, Cy."
"Sure," he called. "I can come in and sit down, can't I?"
"Anywhere you like." Her hair was down now and billowed softly about the one bare shoulder she revealed to him.
"Don't do anything to your hair, Grace," he said softly.
The puckishness went out of her face. "All right, I'll let it fly free."
Cy sat down with a thump and shrugged to relieve the tenseness in his back and shoulders. He still retained the picture of a bare, velvety shoulder caressed by hair of such silken fineness that it had a floating quality. She had probably just washed it that morning, he guessed.
Then Grace emerged. She was wearing a simple, black skirt fitting closely only at the waist, and a tight, white blouse. Cy was convinced that she wore nothing beneath it because of the exotic dance of her breasts as she walked. Now he could see the electric intensity of her deep, blue eyes; and her face, framed in masses of black hair, seemed to have lost some of its pixie cast. It held a poignant welcome that made Cy's throat feel achy and thick.
Cy jumped up and she caught his hands. "I thought that maybe you'd have called before this."
"I think," he said carefully, "that I was a little afraid."
She turned. "Let's have some coffee. Come on into the kitchen."
He followed, watching the poetic sway of her hips and the fluid grace of her fine, young body. She poured coffee and sat down across the table from him. Either the fever of the other night had passed, or she was under iron control. He wondered which, and what to do about it, if anything.
"I can see," Cy said softly, "where you might have been apprehensive. I was scared, too. We progressed so quickly. My reaction, my inability to cope with my feelings, threw me for a loop."
She shivered and averted her eyes. "It was crazy, Cy. I'd never felt that way before, never acted that way. I didn't know what to do, how to control myself. The thing was so much bigger than me."
Cy nodded and sipped the hot, fragrant coffee. "I guess I felt the same. But it must have been worse for you."
"Why?"
"Because men, in general, are not schooled in restraint. It's not expected of them. A girl has to play the lady because society demands it. It must be demoralizing to have all those inhibitions slip from your grasp and leave you unprotected."
Grace shivered again. "Think what might have happened if it had been someone else. Someone not the gentleman you are-"
Cy chuckled. "I'm not so sure I acted properly. I had about as much-or less-control than you."
"That's not what I mean. You are a man with a man's way of behaving, but your action wasn't just an idle fling. I know that without evidence. I felt it I couldn't have been wrong."
"You're not My heart was brimming over."
Grace watched him silently for a moment "I don't think you know what you're saying."
Cy matched her stare. "I know exactly what I'm saying," he replied.
"You're sure, Cy?"
"I'm positive, Grace."
She sighed and looked away. "I'm afraid that I've pushed you and...." She turned her big, starry eyes to him again. "Cy, I'm sitting here about to explode. I'm just so full, full, full!" Tears sprang into her eyes and coursed down her cheeks. A piteous droop touched her lips. "Oh, Cy-" There was naked agony in the cry.
He made a quick move, rounded the table and snatched her into his arms. He held her close, letting her feel the tiger inside him, awaiting the response of her body as she melted into his every outline. The female in her sought the male in him with a sightless but objective insistence.
Their lips met and melted, releasing the fire that consumed them both. Her head swung back, and gusty, choking noises came from her throat, the lashing demand that he had set into motion threatening to overcome her.
Cy broke contact for a moment, shocked by the furious voltage she had loosed upon him. "Grace!" He had to raise his voice to shake the look of anesthesia from her eyes.
"Yes, Cy?"
"Have you thought about it?"
She crumpled against him and nestled in his arms. "I have thought of nothing else."
"How do you feel about it?"
"It's something I want to do-must do-in order to preserve my sanity." A violent convulsion ripped her and her starving mouth found his. One of her sharp, white teeth cut his lip and he tasted blood.
His hands caressed her back and her swelling, satiny hips. Then he forced her to him hard. "Where's Davis?" he asked in a choked voice.
"Jonas fired him. Haven't you heard? ... I guess he's out looking for another job. He won't be home until nightfall." She broke from him and took him by the hand. "Come on, Cy. We have all day."
She led him to her room, closed the door and turned to him. "Cy, we're here all alone. This is totally new to me. I know about sex in its simplest form because I've listened and read. But-I-I'm strange. I have all sorts of compulsions. Some of them might shock you ... "
He stopped her and took her into his arms. "Hush," he said with great gentleness. "All people would like to yield to special sexual urges. Some wise ones do. There can be no shock where there is love."
Her eyes sought his, wide and questioning. "Then you do know what I'm talking about?"
"Of course. I told you so. There's love in this room, Grace. Nothing, absolutely nothing can be wrong."
She rested her head on his chest. "You make me feel so comfortable and safe and free. I have a little fear left, but I'm no longer terrified. The fear is of the unknown about to be explored."
He tilted her chin. "Tell me about your compulsions."
She colored a little. "I want to reveal myself to you. I want to take off my clothes and stand proud before you. I'm good to look at, Cy. I want to do anything that occurs to me."
"All right. You do just that. Do I have the same privilege?"
She clutched him hard. "Whatever you like, Cy. I might be shocked, but don't let that stop you. I just don't know very much, that's all."
She stepped away from him and with slow fingers began unbuttoning her blouse. It widened and he could see the dim, rich outlines of her soft-skinned breasts. When it was open, she shrugged out of it.
Cy caught his breath at the sight. Those twin beauties were firm, delicately textured and rose-tipped. He stretched out his hands and caressed the silken skin of her waist and the firm plane of her stomach. She stood stiffly, her jaws tight and her eyes closed. She wanted to cry out, but she remained silent. Cy kissed the proud summit of each breast. But when billows of joyous agony thundered against the portals of her restraint, he desisted and stepped away to let her regain possession of herself.
Grace's hands went to her skirt, slid down the zipper, then released a slice of pink skin. The cloth hung at her hip, then slid to the floor. Grace stood in proud glory, her body so deliciously formed in every detail that Cy's heart ached and his blood surged madly.
"Cy, do you like me?"
He shook his head. "You're unbelievably lovely. Like a-princess, a goddess! I can't describe what I feel. I love you, Grace."
A sob tore from her throat. "And let this be the measure of my own love ... There isn't another man alive to whom I would display myself." She moved into his embrace and for a long time he held her.
Then she broke away from him, smiling. Her fingers went to work on his wrappings and fastenings. Soon he was as nakedly defenseless as she was. She stepped back, her eyes examining him curiously and closely, just as his had examined her.
He turned red, and she laughed. "You're magnificent, Cy. Oh, my Cy! My fine figure of a man!"
She moved into his arms again and warmth flowed. Her hands explored him fully and intimately. Then his own hands became active. Everything she owned was made available to him-the round, eager breasts, the high moons of her dimpling hips, the rises and valleys of her luscious, luxuriant womanhood.
But the pinching and caressing, the probing and fondling, soon proved too much for her. Her long-limbed body jerked spasmodically. Her sudden clutch was strong. "Cy-Cy, please...."
Cy lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bed. He stretched her out and said, "Compulsion."
Then she underwent as heavenly a torture as she had ever dreamed. His lips were live, avid suction cups that left a trail of agonized joy along her tender flesh. From the soles of her feet to her tender, melting mouth, Grace tingled with white heat. In a trance of pleasure, she remained quiescent until the ultimate had been reached, then went into a wild, thrashing frenzy. When awareness returned, her fears were over and she was the center of a strong embrace. What she had been when the lovemaking had started, she was no more.
Grace uttered a glad, shuddering sigh and relaxed, giving her entire attention to the climactic wonder that had sundered her. This new thing, this new absoluteness of taking, filled her with joy. Cy had taken-and she had received-totality.
Then anew the storm arose within them. Winds flung and tossed them. Cy became conscious of Grace as a woman of great and as yet unchallenged sexual powers.
She flung entreaty and savage demand at him with primordial passion. There was utter urgency about her movements, as if she were determined to miss nothing that was hers to have, determined to experience each of the rites of love, no matter how exotic or difficult. Even though at times the tempest smote her into momentary semi-consciousness, she kept floating to the surface after the lightning had struck. Recovered, she began again to seek thrill and thrust, kiss and culmination. Cy was amazed by his own stamina, by the deathlessness of his response to this child woman who had known nothing but was burning to learn all.
Nature, however, stepped in and stopped what neither of them was willing to halt. They fell asleep in the early afternoon. When Cy woke groggily, he looked at his watch. "Grace," he breathed, "it's four-ten. Wake up. Your brother may come earlier than you expect."
Grace opened her dewy eyes, glazed with satiation. She laughed and squirmed wantonly. "Do you suppose we will ever be able to surpass this, or will we have to be satisfied with equalling it?" She threw herself at him, forcing him to his back, then snaked herself atop him. Crossing her forearms on his chest, she rested her chin and grinned at him. She made certain serpentine undulations that brought Cy's skin to a pucker. "Answer the question," Grace said in stern, judicial tones.
"I don't think we should try to surpass it," Cy said, sliding his fingers over her hips and up the velvety expanses of her flanks. "It would be more than mortals could bear."
"Maybe you're right. As for Davis, his jalopy makes a fearful racket coming over the cattle guard. We'd have plenty of time to make ourselves respectable, if not presentable." She sighed and tears came to her eyes. "Can you understand, at all, what this has meant to me, Cy? Think of it. My first time in bed with a man-and it turned out so wonderfully well! Oh, I've sinned vicariously-in my mind, my dreams-but how could I have known what it was like simply to let go completely, to throw myself into the pool.
The waters of love wash over me, Cy. I drown in them ... "
"Are you wrung dry?"
"No," she whispered.
Cy soon proved that neither was he.
Four o'clock came and found them floating in the dim twilight that divides consciousness from coma. A rattling sound rose abruptly from the front of the house. They jumped to their feet, throwing on clothes.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
WHEN Davis came in, Grace was heating coffee and Cy was seated at the kitchen table.
"Just in time," Grace said brightly. "Glad you're home earlier than expected. How about supper? Our next boss is here to share it with us."
Davis slumped into a chair and shook his head slowly. "Brother, what a day...."
Cy looked closely at Davis' tight, pale face. "Say," he said, sitting forward. "You don't look too hot."
"Man, I'm down, 'way down," Davis said.
"What's the matter with you?"
Davis shook his head. "Gimme a stiff drink and hurry. I need it."
Grace poured bonded whiskey into a shot glass. Davis tossed it off neat, then cleared his throat and glanced at them. "Jake Jonas and Les Corey are both dead."
There was a long silence, broken at last by Grace. "Do you want to be begged? Talk."
"They got out of the hospital this morning. Seems that some of Jake's supporters advised him to with draw from the race and, according to Glenn Baxter, Jake went off his rocker. Threatened to kill Cy on sight, also Buck Farrell-but actually Jake blamed everything on Corey...." Davis shrugged. "Glenn tried to get Jake to go back to the hospital. Jake, looking crazier than ever, said he would rather go home. Instead, he drove to the club. No one saw him go in but some of the help heard the shots. They went in the back room to find Les Corey breathing his last and Jake stone-cold. Jake must have shot Les in the chest, then Les drilled one right between Jake's eyes." Davis shrugged again. "That's the whole story in a nutshell."
Grace uttered a coarse word that gave Cy a delighted thrill and shocked Davis. "If that's all that happened," she asked, "what are you so upset about? Looks like a lot of trouble has been saved for everyone concerned."
"Damn, you're a cold-hearted heifer," said Davis unbelievingly. He turned to Cy, some color coming back into his face. "Fleur's really got it good. I drove over to the club with Bob Jones, the head deputy. He wanted me to help, even though I no longer have official status. Naturally, we saw Fleur and questioned her. She not only gets the business, but something like fifty thousand in cash. She and Les had insurance on each other."
"Hmm," said Cy. "Did she seem happy to talk to you?"
Davis blushed. "Well, I guess so. Unless I'm just flattering myself. I was pretty soft on her once. And my soft spots don't harden very easy."
"In that case, I'd push it. I know for a fact that Fleur would be willing to listen."
"You don't say!" Davis chuckled and handed the glass to Grace. "Fill it, please," he said. Then he winked at Cy. "You wouldn't mind having a wealthy head deputy, would you?"
"Nope-Sheriff Wilde can be as rich as he likes." Davis blinked stupidly. "What is that?" Grace handed him the drink, nearly spilling it. "I heard Cy and so did you," she shrilled excitedly. "Just make him tell you what he's talking about." They gazed at Cy expectantly. "As you both know," he told them, "this sheriff thing was something I agreed only under protest to try. People were twisting my arm and saying it was my bounden duty and I was the one to reform things. And I accepted because Jonas was not the man for the job. But things have changed. Jonas is dead." Cy spread his hands. "If I withdraw in favor of you, Davis, no one will complain. Who knows the job better, or is more enthusiastic about taking it on? Anyway, I've already made other plans for my life." Cy got to his feet. "Will you accept my offer, man?"
"Hell, yes," Grace said instantly. Davis was looking at his hands. "I'll have to think about it," he said carefully.
"I'll accept for him," said Grace. "You lost your mind, Davis? If you turn it down, I'll take the job myself."
Cy looked at her soberly. "I have different work in mind for you," he said.
The lambent fire that leaped into her eyes made Cy's heart pound.
"Think about it, Davis," he said as he walked out.
Back home, Cy handed his horse to Bush Hawg Farrell, a tall, slender nephew of Buck's, whom the latter was grooming to take over certain chores.
Buck sauntered out of the barn and eyed Cy critically. "Man, you look tired."
"I am," said Cy shortly, loosening the saddle cinch. "Where's Dad?"
"I think he's over to Mr. Clarke's. Called and said he might be up all night playin' poker."
Cy nodded. "Tell Aunt Violet to make me a big sandwich. Milk on the side. When they've settled in my stomach, let's get drunk."
Buck laughed deep in his chest "You've got a head of steam to cool."
"Been a long day, man. A long, hot day."
"Heard about Sheriff Jonas and that Corey character. They've simplified a lot of things."
"How true," Cy said. "Look, I'm pulling out in favor of Davis Wilde. I hope that rests well with you."
Buck thought about it. "I know you don't like that sheriffing idea none. Don't much blame you. I was in favor of you sticking it out, but I'll admit this double killing changes things some."
"A lot," Cy said. "I'm not needed any more, don't you see? Davis will do a good job, an honest job."
"I guess that's true. So go ahead and withdraw, I'd say."
Cy nodded. "I'm going to sit on the front gallery."
"Mamma will take care of the eatin'. I'll bring a bottle."
Cy ate hugely of two roast pork sandwiches. The meat was thick, tender and tasty. He washed it down with a quart of cold milk and as a result the hot, heady hum the bottle of Bradshers usually delivered was hard come by. Taut and tingling, Cy argued with Buck about inconsequential things, then announced his intentions to visit Lady Bergstrom.
"You sure that's where you're going?" asked Buck. "I thought you just came from there."
The announced visit was all that Cy had had in mind, but he felt strangely guilty. Blushing, he made a swipe at Buck who ducked and ran laughing through the house. "You want your horse or the car?" Buck asked from a safe distance.
"Car," Cy yelled in return.
Lady met him on the veranda of the big, old mansion. "Brother, you sure been settin' grass fires. Grace called a while ago to tell me the news. What I'm interested in, though, is what she didn't tell me."
"What is it she didn't tell you?" asked Cy.
"How the hell should I know?" Lady responded. "Come in and have a drink. I guess that double killin' really set things up for you."
They marched into the house, making for the library. "You can call off the barbecue now," Cy said. "I'm out of this sheriff thing."
"Not on your life," Lady barked. "Lula, bring drinkin' tools," she called down the hallway. She sat down on a leather couch, motioning Cy into a chair.
"Now look here, Cy. Don't try to stop that barbecue. That will be a good time for you to get up and thank all the folks for their support. Then go ahead and tell them that you're pulling out in favor of Davis Wilde. I aim to have myself hog-heaven at that barbecue and you can't stop me." She closed an eye owlishly. "You can announce your engagement at the same time."
"What engagement?" Cy asked innocently.
"What engagement, my big fat behind! Don't you know that when a woman has been loved to within an inch of her life, another woman, one with sense and savvy, can tell it even over a phone? You oughta look at yourself. You still look a little stony-eyed."
"I ought to run for sheriff just in order to lock you up," Cy said severely. "You know too much."
"I had better be matron of honor," Lady snorted. "Now why don't you go home and get some sleep? You need it."
Cy needed it, but he did not get it. He went home, took two more drinks, gave the ubiquitous Buck a nervous good night and went to bed. He turned and tossed, reliving a technicolor spectacular of his life, beginning with the accidental baring of Fleur's captivating rear. Cy was a little taken aback to realize that his time had been devoted so extensively to rapid transit from one bed to another. Some of the affairs had been one-night stands; others-and these the majority-had been emotionally rewarding adventures which had occasionally produced mild displays of fireworks upon conclusion, but not a single word of hatred. Cy was smart enough to realize that this had required a delicate touch. He congratulated himself, and at last fell asleep.
A couple of mornings later, at about eleven, Cy succumbed to the impulse to take a swim in the north branch. That he chose the deep, cold pool directly below Maureen's "castle" was a mere coincidence, he told himself and was then forced to laugh. He undressed under a thick curtain of elder bushes and took a long, slanting dive into the water. He had assured himself that she was not in the cabin and the shock of seeing her walk to the edge of the creek was the kind of surprise Cy liked. Maureen was as nude as a peeled egg, the sun playing on her lusciously buttered skin.
With a graceful motion, Maureen trotted to the bank and rose into the air, her body an excitingly curved javelin. She slipped into the water and swam toward him. Reaching his side, she submerged and stroked his body with her own, her solid, bud-tipped breasts drawing twin trails of fire along his skin. Then her face burst from the water, her parted lips sweetly smiling.
"I was hoping you'd come," the girl said throatily. "I had a hunch that you would." A hard rigor rippled through her hips and with a sigh she encircled his neck with her arms. Opening her thighs, she sought him with blind, but effective accuracy. Her face twisted for a moment in a grimace of unendurable joy, a joy so agonizing that those wonderful ivory thighs gripped Cy with convulsive intensity.
They were only a few paces from the water-washed, mossy bank. Cy braced himself against it and pulled her on top of him. Then his strength helped her to weather the tumult of scalding bliss that showered them both, that flung them through rapids, thence into calm, untroubled waters. Maureen, recovering, wept quietly and clutched Cy with muscles that twitched and trembled.
Some time later they lay in the dark back room of the castle, their bodies satiated.
"I suppose you know that I'm leaving for college soon," the girl said, rubbing her feather-soft nose against Cy's chin. "That's what you want, isn't it?"
"I want to see you take advantage of your wonderful talent."
"You'll miss me?"
"Maureen-how can you ask me that? You mean more to me than I can ever explain."
"Will you visit me sometimes?"
"Often, unless it poses some problem we can't solve."
She clung closely to him. "We can find a way. People can solve a problem if they want to. It's only when they pose greater problems in trying to solve a lesser one that they blunder."
It was a long time before Cy realized fully what she meant.
"I suppose," he said, "that you're trying to tell me it will be better this way than if we marry."
"Much better, dear Cy. You can marry that white woman-that Grace of yours. She's pretty. She'll give you fine children, and you can hold up your head."
Cy was astounded.
"Then you know!"
"Of course I know. The bushes have ears. And field hands have eyes. You palefaces can't get away with a thing around here-" Her silvery laugh was merry enough, yet undertoned with a sadness that cut Cy Scott to the heart.
"But you still want to see me, Maureen?"
"Why not?"
"Suppose you meet another man? Suppose you find a husband of your own? You should, you know-"
"I have nothing like that in mind," Maureen assured him, compressing her beautifully chiseled lips until they formed a grim line. "I intend to concentrate on my art. If I don't make the grade as an artist, then I'll teach."
Cy clutched her tenderly to him, kissed her fragrant hair. Guilt and conscience were flagellating him. This wonderful girl, this Maureen ... Was she less entitled to love and marriage than Grace? How could he wed either one and leave the other without a husband?
Lying in his compassionate arms, Maureen sighed. Unbidden, the image of that handsome Buck Farrell had come into her mind. He seemed to be sneering at her. She wondered what he would think of all this.
Cy Scott was sitting on the veranda with a glass of amber liquid in his hand. At his elbow sat Buck Farrell, similarly armed. Steven Scott had had his last drink and gone to bed.
"Man," observed Buck at length, "you're awfully quiet tonight."
Cy nodded in the dark, feeling closer than ever to his companion. "I've got a man-sized job on my hands, Buck. It will take plenty of this, that and the other to make it work."
"Cy, I've known you a long time. I daresay that whatever it takes to do a job, you've got it, I can't remember ever having seen you fail."
"Just hearing you talk makes me feel better."
Buck chuckled. "That's the way it goes. When's the event?"
"Soon ... No hurry."
"That's the wisest attitude to take. We'll all be around a long time, God willing."
Cy shook the empty bottle critically. "Think you could rustle up some more drinking materials?"
"Sure, if you can switch to local corn. I fetched a couple of jugs yesterday. Out here on the veranda?"
"Yes. I don't want to move for a long time."
Buck brought ice, mixers, and a glass fruit jar full of com lightning.
Cy made a drink for himself and one for Buck. "Maureen's going to college."
If there existed a subject Buck did not particularly care to discuss, here it was. He tried to keep his voice from shaking. "I heard tell," he said shortly.
"Yeah ... Well, I want you to do me a favor."
"I aim to please."
"She'll need someone to go down to Lakeland and get her set up. If she can't find a place to stay ... I mean, if the dormitories are all full, you could help her find an apartment."
Buck was silent for a long moment. "I suppose I could do that."
"You don't sound very enthusiastic."
"Do I have to?"
"Have to what?"
"Talk about it?"
"Why not?"
"I'm just not feelin' up to it tonight," said Buck. Jumping up, he walked through the door leading to the kitchen. Cy's amazed eyes followed the big Negro. Well, I'll be damned, Cy thought. What the hell is bugging that guy?
Buck went to bed in the small cottage behind the house and for a long time he wrestled with his problem. It had been hard to swallow Maureen's affair with Cy, but at least he had been able to clap eyes on her now and then, exchange a few words. And if harm had threatened he had been around to protect her. But now she would be gone-perhaps forever, who knew? How would he be able to stand it?
Buck could not discuss the matter with Cy; neither could Buck get it out of his bursting heart. He slipped out of bed, woke his mother and poured his troubles into her wise ears.
When he had finished, she slowly stoked her pipe. Then she spoke.
"You're the only son I got and Lord knows you're the only one I ever wanted. That's why I hate to see you troubled. I realize how that gal feels about Cy, because I felt the same way about his daddy-and I still do. But I had sense enough to get a man of my own. You see, son, the colored always try to reach high. A white man sometimes can seem plenty high-leastways, to young Negro girls. They're full of ginger and hot blood. Think you can turn the tide around? Get Maureen to look at you?"
"No," said Buck somberly. "If I thought so, I wouldn't have awakened you."
"Now, there's one person who might help you through to daylight. Maybe it won't do no good, but it sure won't do no harm. Go see Lady Bergstrom. She's seen everything, knows everything. And she's a friend to all."
Buck patted Violet's amply fleshed shoulder. "I've been thinking just that," he said softly. "I bet she could give me some advice."
"You bet your sweet life," said Violet.
Lady Bergstrom was eating breakfast the next morning when Lula came in with a fresh pot of coffee. "Buck Farrell wants to see you," she said.
Lady looked up with a quick, darting motion. "Buck? Well, dammit, bring him in!"
"In here?" asked Lula, who plainly did not approve.
"What's the matter? Aren't workingmen elegant enough for you? He can have coffee with me. You stay the hell out. If Buck wants to see me, he must have something weighty on his mind."
A few moments later, Buck came in by way of the kitchen door, his face sheened with sweat his hands mauling his big hat.
"Sit down and have a cup of coffee, Buck."
"Mornin', Mrs. Bergstrom. No coffee, thank you, ma'am. I reckon I should be shot for bustin' in on you like this."
Lady's sharp eyes softened. "You're perfectly welcome here, Buck. Any hour of the day or night. Sit down, won't you?"
Buck perched himself on the edge of a chair.
"I got a thing I'd like to tell you, ma'am." Buck gulped. "I-I find it hard to talk about...."
"Maybe I can help. Does it have to do with Cy?"
Buck started. "Did my mother call you?"
"No. Should she have?"
Buck mopped the sweat from his face. "It would be just like her to advise me to tell you something, then call and tell first."
"Then it is about Cy. Have he and Grace had a falling-out?"
"No'm. Nothing like that." Buck sighed gustily.
Lady, with a shrewd guess, abruptly brought matters to a head. "Does it concern Maureen? Maureen and Cy?"
Buck's eyes popped, and he gulped for air like a windblown horse.
"Are you in love with Maureen?"
At this, Buck hung his head and sweat poured from the back of his neck. After a while, he answered, "Yes'm, I guess you could say I am."
Lady sat back and stared at the big man for a long moment. "When did it happen, Buck?"
"Not too long ago. She just grew up on me overnight." He raised his head. "You see, I came upon her swimming one day...." He stopped, his face full of embarrassment.
"That must have been a sight," said Lady with conviction. "I'm with you so far. Go ahead."
"I fell in love with her right there and then."
Lady nodded. "What man wouldn't?"
"Yes-but before I could get around to telling her how I felt, someone else stepped in and took right over." Buck stopped and mopped his face.
"I see," Lady said. "And you couldn't tell Cy about it because he's your friend, practically your brother."
"That's right, ma'am. And now Maureen is going away."
Lady frowned and thrust a long, dark cigarette into a holder. "It appears that all your concern is for him. What about her?"
Buck shrugged. "Suppose Cy did step out of the picture? Why would Maureen fall for me? I'm just a farm boy, even if I did go to college. A black farm boy, at that," he finished bitterly.
"Maureen is too fine not to know fineness in another. Suppose we talked to Cy, got him to give her up. That would at least give you a chance to learn whether or not she could love you."
"I don't know," Buck objected. "If she knew I asked Cy to back off, she would always hold it against me."
"No reason on earth she should find out."
"I don't want to trick Maureen," Buck said, "and I don't want to cut Cy out of anything."
Lady snorted. "Loyalty is fine, but there is such a thing as being loyal to oneself as well as to others-on that you can rely. I think that you should speak for yourself, Buck. Tell Maureen that you love her. Far from being a handicap, your Negro blood will be a big advantage. You and she will think it over, settle on a course of action and proceed from there. And if it doesn't work, you're no worse off than before. Cy mentioned he was thinking of asking you to take Maureen to Lakeland to get her settled. Has he spoken to you about that?"
"That's what brought this all on. He told me last night"
"Good. You take her. Something tells me that you'll have the opportunity to talk to her. It's a hundred-and-fifty-mile drive and you'll be there for a few days."
"Suppose then that I...." Buck shook his head. "Mrs. Bergstrom, what chance do I stand? She's not only a beauty, but a gifted artist. Prominent men, rich men, handsome men-of all colors-will fall all over themselves for her favors."
"You'll never really know, Buck, until you try."
"No'm, I sure won't. Well, maybe I'll give it a riffle. But I hardly know where or how to start."
"That will come to you. Now, there's just one thing. If you do work anything out, please call me, long-distance, collect. I'll want to know all about it"
"What good would that do?"
"It would satisfy my curiosity. And I'll be able to prepare Cy for what's to come."
"I think I'd rather do that myself."
"You think it will be easy?"
Buck shook his big head. "No'm. It might be hard."
"Call me, anyway."
"Surely, ma'am."
Lady glared at him. "You've always done well by people, Buck."
"I've tried," the big Negro said.
"All right, then. Do well by yourself."
Buck's eyes grew misty. "My mother told me you would help me."
"Violet's a smart woman, Buck," Lady said severely, honking her nose into a lacy handkerchief. "You won't forget"
Buck might have enjoyed the ride in the big Thunderbird, had Maureen not looked so lovely in her brown cotton dress. Her very presence made his throat knot. She had been sitting silent for a long half-hour, when finally she glanced at Buck. "You don't like me, do you?"
"What makes you say that?" Buck responded roughly.
"You haven't spoken once since we've started. Before we left, you were abrupt-quite rude, actually. I don't understand. Have I ever done anything to offend you? Or is your attitude based on some things you may happen to know that are none of your business?"
"What things?"
"Things about Cy and me."
Buck was silent, trying to order his thoughts. "I have nothing against you. What's between you and Cy is, as you so clearly put it, your own business."
"Maybe you don't like me because you caught me naked in the creek that time. That wasn't my idea, you know."
"It wasn't mine either," Buck said, clearing his throat. "I heard something splashing, and went to see what it was. I didn't mean to spy on you. You were a sight I hadn't expected. I nearly jumped out of my skin. I couldn't help that."
Maureen smiled slowly. "Then I didn't exactly leave you cold?"
Buck managed a return grin. "You affected me the way a match does kerosene. The only chill I've felt since was when I learned about your carryings-on with Cy."
"You object?"
"What objections I might have are of no concern. Cy's my best friend."
"Ah-then that's what's troubling you."
"That and a few other things." Buck stared grimly through the windshield. It was now or never, he knew. He swallowed and blurted, "You see, the day I saw you something happened to me that I'll never get over. There-now I've said it. I won't try to take it back."
Showing totally unexpected diffidence, the beautiful and gifted Maureen hung her head. Buck felt fear freeze his vitals. Had he gone too far? Had he insulted her? This could be the moment, the big test.
When Maureen replied, her voice was low. "I felt it too-that day at the creek. Ever since, you've been popping in and out of my mind even though Cy has made me quite happy. You know, sometimes I have a feeling of inferiority-a feeling that I'm not measuring up to his standards."
"That's your idea, not Cy's," said Buck gallantly.
"I know it ... Just as it's his idea that he's not being fair to me." Maureen sighed. "I'm really glad to be getting away. I need time to think."
"What's this business about me jumping in and out of your mind?"
"That's what you do." Maureen sat demurely, her eyes shy and lowered. "I don't suppose you're ignorant of it, but-but you're so handsome, so strong-"
Buck could not have been more astonished. "Me?"
"Yes. I'd love you to model for me. And your smile, the way you walk and talk-" She shrugged helplessly. "I don't know ... I just don't know. Every time I see you in my mind's eye, I feel so disloyal to Cy."
"Do you feel disloyal to me?"
"Oh, no. Why should I?"
"Because I'm the man who wants to marry you," Buck said. "Better think about that some time."
They both thought about it, all through the rest of the ride.
Arrived in Lakeland, they found that the dormitories were filled to capacity. This was to be expected, since registration week was nearly over and most students were already on hand. Maureen would have to find some place off-campus in which to live. Luckily, as she and Buck combed the streets, they discovered a small but neat apartment not too far from the main drag.
"This costs too much," protested Maureen, horrified when she learned the rent
"I'm following orders," said Buck. "And if Lady can't afford to keep you here, I'll work day and night to kick in."
Maureen looked at him for a long time, her mind churning furiously. Then with a peculiar note in her voice, she said. "Buck, come here."
He moved closer to her, warily watching her face.
He stood as calm and straight as a tree when she threw her arms around him. "I've been thinking...." she said, her words muffled against his broad chest.
"You have plenty more to do yet," he assured her. "Now, get your books straight, your clothes arranged. I'll run find a place to sleep tonight. Tomorrow I'll put in a stock of cereals for you to breakfast on. You can get your hot meals at the student union." He moved as if to break away from her.
Maureen clung to him, would not let go. "You'll have to stay," she cried desperately. "I need you to help me think."
"If I stay here," Buck said, stroking her satiny shoulder, "neither of us will do any thinking."
Maureen's eyes were wet as she raised them to his. "Buck, maybe I've been thinking too much."
"That could be-or not enough."
She was warm against him, and her allure was too much for any male to resist. It was inevitable that their lips should meet.
The kiss sent a wild tide of unleashed passion ripping through her. The smooth serpentine movement of her body revealed that the time for thought was past....
The hours passed swiftly and sweetly.
At midnight, the moon cast a beam of mellow gold across Maureen's nude body as she lay beside Buck. This night she had been loved and she knew now that she could love Buck-f or whom she had proved it.
Lady Bergstrom, cross-eyed with sleep, sat up in bed. The phone at her side was ringing furiously. She stared at it with resentment. "Ring, you brass-gutted son of a bitch," she said muzzily. "Be damned if I'D answer you." But since it would not desist, she reached for the instrument, still cursing a blue streak. "Whoever you are, you piebald son of a sea-cook, I'll deball you for waking me at this hour. Oh, hello, Buck-that you?"
"Ma'am, I've heard some language in my life," Buck said soothingly, "but that-"
"You didn't call me up to discuss my cussin'," Lady bawled. "What gives at that end?"
"Things proceed apace, as it were," Buck said cautiously.
"Ain't that just like you? You get around a university and you start talking like one. Next thing I know, you'll be calling me "chick" and refusing me my proper respect."
"No, ma'am," Buck insisted. "I'll never refuse you anything."
"All right ... What gives down there?"
"Cy will have to worry about only one woman," Buck said.
"That's good. You don't want me to say anything to him?"
"After extensive cogitation, I have arrived at the conclusion that perhaps you should be the one to approach him."
"Huh? What language are you talkin'? Anyway, don't worry, I'll fix it at this end."
"Mrs. Bergstrom, in case I forget to tell you later, you're one of the Lord's finer creatures."
"You're damn right I am," Lady bellowed. "And you'd better tell me every time you see me. By the way, where are you?"
"I'm in Maureen's apartment."
Lady chuckled. "I can't think of a better place to be at midnight."
"Maureen's asleep. I want her to be fresh for the morning."
"Sure. Well, have fun, you-all." Lady hung up and flopped back on her pillow. She turned and tossed and cursed and grumbled. Later she got up, found a bottle of brandy, and toasted Romance. Feeling revived, she toasted it again. When at last she felt sleepy, she tumbled tipsily into bed.
